The Nightmares of Corruption Pt. 2

Her trips to the Core should have been few and far between. Dxun tantalized her while she was on Onderon, and in her frustration at her own ineptitude and the slowness of Salem Ave in fulfilling his promise she blew off energy as best she could. Traveling to Coruscant to hunt down Imperial operatives with a small group of Mandalorians (out of armour, and reeking of virility and strength) and her Student was one way she knew she could be satiated.

The transport from Onderon to Bespin was barely half full, but on their connecting flight to Coruscant the ship was stuffed with travelers. The Mandalorians disguised their wonder at space travel well, though she could feel their emotions clearly. They practically trembled with excitement at the thought of action off planet. Getting them off of Onderon was simple enough, as no one expected the Mandalorians to ever take off their signature armour. It was packed away in the luggage, just in case.

Hawkins was silent and sullen for most of the trip. As per usual.

Grime sat forward, his elbows rested on his knees, in the small chair in the back of his room in their cabin. It was a three room compartment, two bed rooms and a common room. One room was claimed for himself, the other for their precious Mandalore, and her lucky dogs that were finally able to get out of their shells and off that stink hole of a planet slept in the common room.

Something like Coruscant or Nar Shadda. It was an entirely different jungle. But Grime had survived Nar Shadda, kind of... and then the wilds of Iziz had proven the nature of the beast to be only as much natural as Nar Shadda had been technical. Once one of them died. They would be fine.

As to Lilaena. The witch still had yet to teach him how to read minds. Grime did not expect he had to ask. She would simply tell her everything she knew and he would learn it. That was how it would work. And yet she continued to withold the vital instructions to knowing what others thought. De'Ville was returning to Coruscant so soon after her last visit, Grime wondered as to just how well she could cover her tracks.

Her face was on the Imperial's Most Wanted. Not like any common folk cared. In these highly populated areas, one could see beggars that looked like the dead Emperor himself and women who looked more hutt than human. Unless they were obnoxious about it, they'd be fine. The masses were their mask.

The reflection of his handsome face in the large window was deceptive. It didn't show the eyes set behind the sculpted features or convey just how perfect it was, how fake it was. His skin, his real skin, or what was left over, quivered beneath his exoskeleton as his anger slowly rose to the surface. There were so many ways to burn it now, so many ways to let the rolling turmoil within him burn everything in sight. But not now. They had just come out of hyperdrive and were soon to be planetside. And when he touched down, and De'Ville pointed at who needed to die first, because they would all die in time, heads would roll.

The transport touched down, and the Mandalorians slowly straightened from where they'd been lounging around the common room of their suite. Bretak, her second, had been left behind on Onderon, overseeing the choosing of the hundred Mandalorians who were to be given ident cards and access to the City. Granoi and Dredale, two female warriors of great renown (Dredale had once killed a boma with her bare hands) were part of the party, as well as three males: Jeng, Vason, and Kranog. Vason stood up and walked to the door as the transport stopped moving, opening it to peer cautiously into the passageway. The Mandalorians took their job of keeping Mandalore safe very seriously, and were able to make it look like they couldn't care less about the female in the brown jumpsuit.

Hawkins shouldered his bag and hers, though both were light and contained little other than a change of clothes. The warriors filtered out carrying their luggage, Dredale linked arm in arm with Lilaena as Jeng carried her bag. Dredale had short dark hair as well, and they had found that they looked enough alike that they might be mistaken for sisters. The Mandalorians had been sequestered on Onderon for many generations, but they were smart, adaptable, and had spent the whole trip learning as much about the galaxy as De'Ville would tell them.

If they stared a little pop-eyed at Coruscant as the group emerged from the spaceport, then all the better. They were tourists, and they looked it, for all their languid grace. Dredale hummed a little tune as Lilaena located them a taxi to their hotel, a Mandalorian song that had a lot of blood and death in it. Most of their literature and songs involved death.

They reached the hotel and their suite at around what would count for noon on the Coruscant clock. The Mandalorians deposited their luggage in the main room, Grime left De'Ville's on a table near the entrance, and then walked into far left bedroom of three available. The hotel was classy, nothing extravagant but what would be expected of a group of tourists who had bought into a place like this through a travel agency.

Upon entering what would now be his room for the duration of the stay, he slammed the door shut behind him. He sealed the windows, deactivated the mirror, and dropped his bag beside the bed, before sitting on the edge of the bed. The taxi had been cramped with all of them and their luggage and Grime's skin was still crawling from being so close to another living thing and having not killed it.

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, resting his artificial face in his metal hands. The rage. Grime had nothing of grace anymore in the face of such a hurricane. Grace? He was a corpse kept alive by a metal frame and it had already taken two years to not have the disposition of a wind up toy. The notion of grace was beyond Grime at this point. How he craved the power that was wrought from his own hatred but it threatened more often to devour him in every aspect.

It spoke to him when his suffering and passions flared up like a solar flare from a star soon to go nova. Nothing as comprehensive as words, but compulsive suggestions and flashing images. De'Ville had died many times already, image after image of how and when. But he needed her. For now. Grime had been intent upon exacting his revenge against those responsible for his 'first death'. But his hatred had grown with his powers. And his revenge was no longer exclusive. There was almost no question in his mind of the matter; everything would burn for what happened to him. Nothing deserved to be alive anymore than he was.

Grime inhaled and exhaled, slowly. His muscles were twitching, his heart was beating like it was on an adrenaline rush. He tried to manage the mounting hatred within him as he was accustomed to, like trying to ride a flood of molten lava up a mountain of ice, the furnace perpetuating the emotions uncontrollably with memory after bitter memory.

Beside Grime, on the atmoscontrol tab display, the temperature was slowly going up.

Hawkins wasn't sure how long he sat there in the darkness, but when he lifted his hands from his face, the internal rage had subsided. He sighed, his body stretching itself as he stood. He opened the door to the common area to return to the small group and hear their intentions on Coruscant from Lilaena now. The Mandalorians would have had plenty of time to settle in while Grime had been occupied.

It took the group hardly any time at all to settle into the hotel suite. It was stretching the last of Lilaena's credits to purchase it for three nights, but she didn't mind. The Mandalorians had many artifacts of their own - working shell guns (shells were few and far between, though some still knew the making of them), things made of the famed Mandalorian iron. She planned on arranging for the Mandalorians to turn some of their assets into Imperial credits, which would of course be essential if they were to begin buying supplies out of the City.

Mentally she brushed all those thoughts away as Hawkins re-emerged from his room. Jeng was tossing coasters at Granoi, only to yelp as she threw them back with more force, bouncing them off his chest. Lilaena suspected that the two were involved in some sort of complicated courting process. It seemed to revolve around sarcasm and other nonsensical things that they shot back and forth in Mando'a.

She got up from her perch on the edge of the couch, and the Mandalorian's eyes all tracked to her immediately. They cared not where they were to be fighting, only that they would be fighting. She had taken one enemy away and had promised to give them another, a greater enemy more worthy of their attentions. Her honor guard was ready to judge for themselves, and the thought of bloodshed set their eyes sparkling.

Hawkins was a different matter. Still, he listened quietly as she outlined her plan for infiltrating and destroying a top level Imperial research laboratory. Its destruction would set many things into motion, and in turn would bring others to a halt. Her voice hardened, "The Empire seeks to destroy all Force users - and all those who might possibly become Force users. This lab contains their research on Force sensitivity, and tools they have been using to determine whether a being is an adept or not. I want everyone in the facility killed, and all the equipment destroyed."

She had set the objectives and the Mandalorians were already at work with their kits. None of their armor of course, it stood out too much. It would've been like leaving pieces of bread the size of a small moon as a trail of bread crumbs to where Lilaena would be staying. But that drew an inquiry from Grime.

"You have some method of going about this and not being discovered about it or are we just going on a rampage? Nevermind that newscast we made with your last appearance."

His voice was acidic with sarcasm. Grime had no preference as to the method but he needed De'Ville to teach him how to harness his hatred, not be an example of what not to do while attempting to kill Imperials on Coruscant. They had made the top story for two days straight on the Imperial Holonet after their appearance at the Grand Inquisitor's home. Of course, they all knew who Lilaena was, Grime merely being some 'sinister pyromancer'. But if she really just wanted to make a scene this time, why not bring along the Mandos in their armor? Why not just call the Inquisitoriate ahead of time and say we're on our way to deliver some Twi'lek food and the fortune company that comes with it will say 'if she escapes, check Onderon'.

She looked sideways at him, the Mandalorians paying no attention to the two of them. Grime spoke roughly with her, but he had yet to truly test her patience. The first time he had sniped verbally at her in the Mandalorian encampment, Bretak had nearly taken the man's head off. And in turn had very nearly been burnt to a crisp.

Mandalore told her warriors to pay no attention to what she did with Hawkins. It was her business, and hers alone. And so in the suite the Mandalorians turned blind eyes, though she was sure that they missed nothing.

The Knight silently studied the length of her student, pristine in his gilded skin, but she could feel the suffering he felt underneath his exoskeleton. Could feel the hatred and resentment building as she delayed her response to his sarcastic query. With two steps she crossed the distance between them, and had him by the shirtfront, slamming his body into the wall behind him.

The room boiled with sudden heat, and she concentrated on pulling the heat from the air around her body as she pressed her arm against his neck with surprising strength. The Force pinned him in place in front of her as the Mandalorians turned to watch with some interest. "Do not question my methods, boy. When I found you, you were nothing but a walking corpse, animated by hatred. I do not want your gratitude, but I demand your respect."

Grime's face of course couldn't make the feeble smile his mutilated flesh tried to make, his chin up and his eyes to the ceiling with her arm against his neck. He gargled the blood that had risen to his throat in an attempt to speak, swallowing, he began.

"It was merely a question as to your preference of how we go about it, which you had yet to clarify upon, not whether or not your methods were of competent strategy."

He swallowed another gulp that felt like more mucus and blood. Flashing images of De'Ville twisted and contorted in all sorts of painful positions appeared in the void he was staring at through the ceiling.

"Would you rather I finish each sentence with Master to give you the illusion I care? I do what you say, witch, and I do it well. I might be a walking corpse but you made me a weapon to suit your needs..."

Swallowing more blood, not enough to mean anything, but the impact with the wall must have shook something up.

"Now that you've proven your point, Master... You were saying..."

Blood trickled from the side of his mouth, scarlet red against the paleness of his face. His eyes burned, the images flashing behind his eyelids faster and more graphic when closed. One metal hand came up to her wrist and gripped it with an unexpected frailness. She wasn't dead; he hadn't tried to kill her yet, wasn't that respect enough?

She released him, and while he would never grovel, his face was slightly downcast as she outlined their plan of attack. He was probably glowering at her behind his too-smooth face, and trying to determine how much damage had been done to him. The hate would never cease, she realized, it was what had drawn her to him in the first place, like a moth to a flame.

They would do the job tonight, and lay low for a day before catching a transport for Bespin. From there they were making one more hop to a junction 'port, and then on to Onderon. She'd studied the plans that she'd gotten on her own, with no help from the Executor, and as long as they were accurate everything would be perfect. As long as there were no flies in the ointment, like IG-88 on Thyferra almost five years previously.

Grabbing their packs (armor was good for concealing weapons, but so were backpacks), the small group headed out. Lilaena walked with Hawkins at her side, leading the way out of the hotel as the Mandalorians nonchalantly followed at a distance. The two groups came to the same turbolift shaft by what appeared to be chance to anyone who might be watching, and the Mandos went down first. As they waited for the next 'lift, Lilaena looked at Grime.

"I don't know what you did in your other life, but most of the people in this place will not be armed." The 'lift arrived, and the pair stepped inside. Turning to face the door, she added, "But some ideas are more deadly than blasters." She didn't think he had a problem with killing unarmed beings, but if he did it was a good time to find out.

CENSORED smeared blood up his face, smiling, as he slid the out of place strands of hair back and out of his eyes.

"Please... Sir..."

He looked over his shoulder, away from the blank stare of the corpse in front of him, and to the female that was impaled in the shower. The shower was running, hot water running over her clothed body and keeping the blood running from her gut, as a vibrolance kept her pinned to the wall. She would bleed from that wound for hours and only die after experiencing the most exquisite amount of pain.

"Sir... don't kill them... p-p-p-please..."

The rest of her words became incoherent by the sobbing, and then the screaming. By them, she meant the three children upstairs, that were tied down and gagged as instructed and done by two of CENSORED's men.

Without a word, he left the room and travelled upstairs, his boots leaving a trail of blood behind him. His feet fell soft on the carpet of the stairs. His intent would not have been assumed so malicious from the way he walked but the blood that soaked his clothes, none of it his own, betrayed ill will from the first sight.

How that woman screamed at the first sound of pain from her helpless children.

=======

Grime stared at his reflection, the eyeless visage beneath the shade of his widebrimmed hat.

"You don't know what I did in my other life, witch-mistress. And it is only the fault of most of those people if they are unarmed when I arrive. Regardless, they will die either way. Armed or unarmed."

The door opened, leading to the lobby. With an extreme amount of effort, Hawkins smiled, his artificial face actually curving into a perfect grin, a pleasant grin that would be unravelled in its appearance the moment someone saw his eyes.

"After you, Lady."

The smile was eerie, and not only because she had never seen him smile before. She stepped out of the 'lift in time to see the Mandolorians making their way out of the front doors of the hotel. She wasn't worried about them being on their own... well, not much. They were disciplined warriors, and only the best would have been selected to be in Mandalore's honor guard.

Hawkins and Lilaena walked in silence, out of the hotel, through a warren of pedwalks and alleys, until they came to a multistory building between two much larger buildings. It seemed to have been overtaken by urban growth, and the windows were covered with plastic sheeting to deter anyone who didn't see the huge "CLOSED" sign that had been sprayed on the door. The door was slightly ajar, and Lilaena pulled it open and stepped inside.

The dust had been disturbed from the feet of her warriors, and shortly they met up with the two women and three men. They were clustered around a row of turbolifts, most obviously broken, but two seemed to be in working order. Lilaena strode directly to one and pushed the call button.

The doors slid open, and she stepped inside to see which floors the 'lift would go to. "Dredale, come with me and Hawkins." The female strode into the turbolift fearlessly, and was joined by Grime.

Lilaena pressed the lowest possible choice, and the 'lift groaned slightly as it began its descent.

Their descent into Hell began slowly at first but the 'lift managed to move faster as it continued. The smile on Grime's face had disappeared as soon as they had left the lobby and now the stoic demeanor once again made it appear as if Grime had never shown an emotion in his life.

The ride down was silent and Grime enjoyed the mental imagery of an actual descent into Hell. Coruscant went on and on beneath the surface, deeper and deeper until the sunlight that was adjusted by the whim of Coruscant was a foreign thing. The labyrinth beneath its surface was so intricate and complex, it was no surprise that there would be forgotten access ways into nearly any part of the surface. Grime had heard of people seeking refuge in the darkness beneath Coruscant. Not even the Empire wanted to bother with sifting through the dungeons of their own capitol.

The lift halted and the doors slid open, letting in the smell of stagnant air. Grime watched the two females step out before following. He followed and would continue to follow as he had no clue as to where they were going, how they got there was not his problem. His fingers curled into fists and uncurled, the derelict view of negligence was remniscent of Nar Shadda and its down trodden metropolis.

Dredale was alert, perhaps more alert than Lilaena had ever seen her. Here, down in the unknown spaces where life used to thrive, nothing was familiar. The warrior was used to the claustrophobia of the jungles of Onderon. Here, a mile underneath the upper crust of the city planet, they found themselves in what had been an open air marketplace. The 'crete under their boots was covered in dust and small pieces of debris. In places there was enough buildup that plants could be seen attempting to grow in the semi-darkness.

Many years previously the marketplace had been built over - creating a huge vaulted ceiling with enormous metallic beams. It felt like they were inside some gargantuan creature, and in a way, they were.

Lilaena took a few steps forward in the flickering light of a forgotten streetlamp, and turned on her flash. She directed the beam towards the outermost edges of the room, searching...

By the time the turbolift made its way back down with the three male Mandos, she had found what she was looking for. An old sewer main, long ago abandoned and unused, with a large enough pipe for them to walk upright in, three abreast. It would lead them directly underneath the lab.

They walked, and they walked some more. Grime was glad he didn't have any real sense of smell; each stride was made a thick slurping sound. The sewer they were traversing hadn't been used in ages but neither had the pestilence control systems and the types of bacteria and fungi and other assorted organisms that were allowed to thrive amidst the dank darkness were in abundance. The small group eventually came to a durasteel barrier with an eroded sign that pointed up.

Grime had been walking in the back of the group, watching the Mandos and their warrior's paranoia set in. The sewer passage hadn't been in any better for them. There were only two paths available, forward and back. If cornered, there were only so many options for them. And forward seemed to end in durasteel wall. Not that the Mandos wouldn't face their deaths head on, but protecting the life of Mandalore, who had so much to do still, was their current mission. Now they looked to De'Ville, to see what their fearless leader had in store for getting rid of it.

Grime had ideas. But he thought his suggestions might be too... questioning of what the Witch might already have in mind. He crossed his metal arms across his chest and watched.

The connection that they were headed towards was blocked behind a heavy durasteel plate. Vason slowly played his flash over the seams and then the tunnel above their heads as Lilaena lifted something off her belt. "Back up and cover your eyes," she barked at the warriors in Mando'a, and they gave her space accordingly. "You might want to look away, Hawkins."

She ignited her lightsaber, the purple blade blinding in the dark tunnel, and pushed the blade through the durasteel. It wasn't thick (durasteel didn't have to be thick) and she began to slowly cut a man-sized hole through the metal. Soon enough the 'steel clunked outward into the other side of the sewer pipe, leaving a doorway edged in glowing red. Having Hawkins drain the heat from the durasteel would have been a good training exercise, but she didn't want to waste the time and so did it herself.

The edges dulled in color, and she ducked through, clipping her lightsaber back onto her belt and turning her flash back on. There was an access shaft just above... and it wasn't hard to pop the cover from the shaft to expose the tube and the old staples that were fixed into the side of it. Lilaena hooked a toe onto a staple on the side of the sewer pipe, and vaulted upwards into the shaft, grabbing handholds once inside.

The Mandos looked from the disappearing feet of De'Ville to Grime and noted his lack of movement. Quickly deducing that Grime wasn't going next, they all began to follow in suit without any hesitation. Hawkins still stood with his arms crossed over his chest, eyeing the molten edges of what had been a durasteel wall before him. A lightsaber, destructive, seemingly light and easy to handle. A valuable weapon that unfortunately Grime did not think he was able to wield. His body was a clockwork toy; his dexterity was beyond something so agile. Hawkins left his own molten edges of his imbitterment towards his handicap beneath his thoughts as he finally stepped to the shaft.

He glanced up to see the feet of Dredale seeking a foot hold above him. Hawkins noted the confines, how easy it might be to just ignite the air and burn the entire troupe above him to a pillar of ash. One metal hand slipped around the edges and he stepped off and upwards. Thoughts of melted flesh and boiling blood cascaded across his vision as Grime continued upwards, the stagnant air fading away the higher they climbed.

The climb was interminable. De'Ville could hear the faint creaks coming from Grime's exoskeleton as he toiled behind the Mandos, and his labored breathing. Every exhale was no doubt a curse aimed at her.

"Hold," she said, swinging her right foot out to catch the staples that ran opposite the set she was climbing, and resting her back against the shaft. "Five minutes, and don't fall."

Suspended in the tube, five Mandos and one apprentice beneath her, Lilaena looked upwards. They were almost there - the ventilation entrance to the lab was not far above. But when they got there they would need to be ready. A canteen of water was passed up to her from Jeng, and she drank sparingly before handing it back down.

They all made it seem so easy. Of course it was easy for such healthy well bred warriors. And De'Ville. Maybe she could heal herself with the Force. That thought was like a spark to a furnace stoked with gasoline. She wouldn't teach him how to read minds or heal himself. She wanted him in a disadvantaged position, she knew what strength he had. And if she could read minds, she knew who he was before. She was afraid. She feared what Grime might become if he regained his former life and could control his powers to such a destructive degree. As Hawkins held himself in place, he leaned one side of his body against the shaft, staring at the side opposite him, picturing what he might have to do to De'Ville to get that information out of her.

Several mentally played out tortures and executions later, five minutes were up and Grime looked up. If he didn't hate everything about everything that existed, Hawkins would almost say Dredale had a fine pair of legs and with a fine posterier to match. If he didn't hate her for merely being alive.

Five minutes slipped by in silence, broken only by the sounds of their breathing. Lilaena tapped Jeng on the shoulder with her foot, and turned to begin climbing again. A few minutes later she stopped.

The access to the laboratory's ventilation system was just ahead, the panel bolted shut from the inside. However, the staples had been removed, or at least partially removed, from both sides of the shaft leading up to it. Someone must have leaned down with a pair of bolt cutters and tried to snip them off. Underneath her the Mandos waited silently, Jeng the only one who could see what they were facing.

He didn't look worried, but then she wasn't too worried either. But Grime was not nearly as agile as she, and after such a long climb... Lilaena wondered if he would fall all the way down the shaft, or if he would be able to catch himself on the way down.

She swung out again, putting her foot on the opposite staple and leaning against the side of the shaft. Concentrating, Lilaena began removing the bolts from the access cover with the Force, the nuts falling inside the ventilation ducting with metallic plings. The plate came loose, and she pulled it outwards, suspending it above her head. Jeng murmured something, but did not move.

Carefully, and quietly, Lilaena pushed the inch thick durasteel plate up the shaft past the access point, and wedged it into the staples. Satisfied that it would not fall, she turned her concentration to the open hole above her. Clean air drifted down towards them, making the stench they were traveling in that much more noticable.

The staples above her head had been cut down to nubs, but there was enough for a handhold or two if you didn't mind the sharp edges. Pushing herself up with her legs, the Jedi stood on the last intact staples on either side of the shaft, and set about shuffling upwards, catching footholds on the bits of metal imbedded into the walls. Once she reached the same height as the access shaft she swung her body to that side of the tube and used her arms to pull herself inside. There was just enough room to turn around, and she did so just in time to see Jeng pulling himself in. No, it didn't look like the Mandos were going to have trouble getting in.

Lilaena backed up to give them room, picking up the loose nuts from the floor of the ducting and putting them in a pocket so they wouldn't make more noise.

The Mandos began to move above him but Grime waited, intent on catching his breath some and allowing his frail body a moment. He closed his eyes and waited, breathing slowly. By the time he glanced up again, he was watching the tip of Dredale's foot disappear over where the exit must be. Grime grimaced and lifted one hand to the next staple. The slight grating of metal on metal was reassuring that he had a grip as Hawkins began to climb.

He reached their exit and glanced around at the dilemma of what would be considered acrobatics for his stiff frame. He turned to one side and groped in the space before him for some kind of handhold. He found the remains of staples above him and his fingers closed over one sharp edge of them, his sense of touch was numb to such a thing, the exoskeleton handled it without complaint. Grime pulled himself upwards with a wheezing exhale of breath, his metal boots searching for a foot hold. The treads of the boots found some grasp but obviously not enough for Hawkins to make a proper judgement as his weight shifted and he suddenly slipped.

His blood shot eyes opened in instant despair and shock as less than reputable death from a broken neck falling down a sewage pipe flashed inside his mind. His hand shot out and a metallic ring and loud wrenching noise echoed away from him. His hand had impacted with the wall just below his exit and had dented into the side of the pipe and peeled a layer away within his grip. He hissed through his teeth slowly, Grime couldn't feel his hand. But he had his grip and holding and he ungracefully scrambled out of the open hole.

To finish it, he flipped upon finally clambering out and landed on his back with another loud clang. He sat up slowly, glancing to the Mandos and then to De'Ville. His eyes spat hatred in every direction and dared them to make any more noise over it than he already had. Grime slowly stood and adjusted his hat while he looked from the corner of his eye at his reflection in a metal cabinet.

Dr. Feenix Hadel turned off the bone saw, placing it beside the autopsy table gently. There was almost a reverence in the doctor's attitude towards those that made their way to his autopsy table. He turned to the digital recorder strategically placed just so on the tray of instruments beside him. "Removing the top of the skull... now... exposing the brain tissue. Grey matter appears normal for a Zabrack pre-adolescent. Probing for the medulla oblongata..." And so on and so forth. It was his fifth post-mortem examination of the evening, and he was just getting started.

Feenix was carefully removing the entire brain from the skull when the unusual noises began. Irritated at what he percieved as an unwanted commotion in the hallway caused by his co-workers, the doctor was a little hastier in the excavation than he would have preferred. The Zabrack child's brain was placed into its fluid-filled container which he sealed, and Hadel stripped off his gloves.

Walking towards the double doors that led from the stainless steel examination room into the hallway, Feenix paused, considering that the noises had a certain familiar sound to them. Before he could panic, however, the doors were slammed open and a wild-eyed woman with short dark hair and black paint on her face pointed a blaster at him.

Lilaena pulled the trigger and the white-coated doctor fell backwards, his already-dead body spasming as he crashed into a wheeled cart full of scapels. Behind her the Mandos were spreading into the laboratory complex, destroying life as they went like the killing machines they were.

The body hit the ground, twitching in that oh so familiar way that Grime had been fond of watching as the life, almost like their soul, slipped out of their eyes. The Mandos slipped past De'Ville and Hawkins with deadly purpose, weapons in hand.

The feeling in his hand was coming back with a dull ache and he gripped his sword unsheathed in his other hand. He took a moment to look at De'Ville from where he stood behind her. A well shaped form, agile build, muscular and still tasteful. Grime's appreciation went as far as to determine where his sword might open the flesh. Her head would snap back in sudden pain and shock, mouth open in awe and painful realization. Eyes so green, flecked with her own blood as her slashed skin burned at the edges of the wound as he forced flame into the gaping wound and burned her from the inside out.

He blinked. The air temperature having already begun to rise as he brushed by his Master. He wouldn't dare strike her down now. There was still so much to learn and she was far too valuable an ally then she was a victim. And she could've been reading his thoughts right then, he couldn't tell, of course, she hadn't taught him that essential trick yet. She probably knew she would need that advantage as long as she could hold out on him.

Hawkins followed one of the males' paths down the corridor. He made a turn in the opposite direction from which he heard blaster fire and a muffled scream. The door opened, another examination room, corpses in body bags and stasis fields, and a nurse huddling beneath a gurney. She knew what she was about and if it wasn't for her trembling shoe barely sticking out from beneath the bloodied cloth hanging over the gurney, Grime wouldn't have noticed.

One hand gripped the edge and with a rush of unleashed fury, the gurney flipped into the air and against the wall. She screamed all of about four seconds as one metal foot kicked her down and pinned her throat beneath it. Her hand came out and futilely struck his metal knee as her eyes bulged from the sudden lack of oxygen and the pressure on her neck. Her soft skin went red in and her mouth opened in a pain enduring snarl of desperation, a snorting noise, something guttural from the back of the throat was made as her muscles contracted, trying to breath. His sword stabbed down into her gut and he rotated his wrist as his longsword curved and slid up into her more vital organs. She'd die slowly and quietly as he let off. Her eyes were hurt, bewildered, lost. She'd never know a reason as to the big why, and Grime couldn't care less. He bent over, and pulled the ID card from her neck with a sharp tug, snapping the cord. No reason to waste the conveniences.

Death radiated out from where they had emerged from the ventilation system in the subbasement of the laboratory. Lilaena lifted an ident card from the fallen doctor in front of her, and flipped it over. It proclaimed that his name had been Feenix Hadel, but she merely slipped it into a pocket intending to use it later to gain access to more secure rooms. The body had fallen awkwardly into a rolling cart of tools - instruments used for the government approved butchery that was going on in this building.

A dead Zabrack pre-teen was lying on one of the stainless steel autopsy tables, a Y-incision leaving the contents of its chest and abdomen open to the carefully recycled air of the room. The top of the skull had been removed, and a cursory glance revealed that many of the child's internal organs, including his brain, had been removed. Lilaena swept the room for any other living beings, found none, and moved on.

The subbasement they had broken out into was mainly janitorial in nature, full of heavy duty disinfecting chemicals and all the hardware to keep the air above safe from airborne contaminants or foul odors. The basement held six carefully appointed autopsy rooms, each with two stations. There had been only three living occupants, all of whom had been eliminated within less than a minute. She'd instructed three of the Mandos to reach the top floor as quickly as possible - there were five levels all together, including the two basements (though on Coruscant how any floor could be considered a basement was hard to imagine. All it meant was at one time the 'first' floor had been considered ground level. However, it had been a long time since this building was considered ground level. The entire facility would be called a series of basements, logically). In the subbasement below Kranog pulled the breakers and the electricity to the lab went out, including all the backup generators. No alarms would be going off or calling for help. After a moment amber emergency lighting clicked on, the low powered bulbs feeding off of a battery somewhere else in the building. No matter - the battery only powered the lights, nothing else.

Dredale, Granoi, and Jeng should have reached the 'third' floor by now, starting their rampage of death. Kranog jogged up the stairs just as Lilaena was prying open the doors to the first floor from the stairwell. He followed behind her, his ornate matched blaster pistols drawn and ready as screams began on the floors above them. In the semi-darkness of the amber hall lights, Lilaena smiled as she tucked away her blaster and drew her lightsaber. Time to really make them scream.

The butchery on the first floor took a mere five minutes to complete, and Kranog flitted away and joined his fellows on the upper two floors which were full of cubicles and other nooks and crannies that had to be fully searched in order to declare the building clean. Lilaena found herself alone in a long, metal walled room, lined with square doors. She'd already discovered the organ storage room just down the hall and to the left.

Walking forward, she picked a drawer randomly and pulled it open, revealing a pair of tiny feet. Cold hand on the metal tray, the Jedi drew out the body of a small human girl. She couldn't have been older than five years of age. The body had been preserved in a low powered stasis field, but when they'd cut all of the power the fields had all failed.

Lilaena stood at the side of the roll-out table, looking down at the girl's face and trying to ignore the ghastly Y incision that had been roughly stitched up with thick black thread. Even before she felt with the Force she knew that all of the doors were hiding a child's body. And when she did reach out, the pain and confusion held inside the room was enough to drive a person mad. Anger bubbled up inside her, as it had when she'd first heard of the Imperial testing program.

Killing the Jedi had not been enough. Now they were killing children, little innocents who's only crime was to be Force sensitive, or to hold the possibility that they could become adepts. Vason was going through the building, systematically smashing all of the equipment. She wanted this outrage to stop, and so she had struck out at the heart of it all, this secret lab in the crust of Coruscant where the brightest minds of the Empire were trying to discover what it was that made a being sensitive to the Force. They had the ability to detect adepts through the Jedi Order's archaic midi-something blood test, but that wasn't enough. They wanted more.

The Jedi clenched her hands into fists, and the drawers all slammed open, the bodies of children rolling out on their trays as she stalked from the room.

A door opened to a room of whispers and murmurs. The room was decidely empty and vacant for the most part but for empty shelves. Grime could still hear the obvious signs of life though. His eyes lazily scanned the room as his irritatation grew. Why couldn't they just be obviously waiting for him, ready to die? Ready to burn?

The room was heating significantly. His demented aggravation was the cause and only getting worse as he tried to pay closer attention to the noises. He blamed his inability to properly discern it upon his exoskeleton, his weakened frame, and his damaged senses. His hearing was probably going along with everything else by now. Hawkins feared that his body was only counting down until it gave up, his mind just left to rot inside of it, that the exoskeleton wouldn't be able to do as intended. He grit his teeth, his artificial tongue sliding along the roof of his mouth.

There were skid marks on the floor, metal against metal scratches of moved equipment or furniture. Someone had been in a hurry to shuffle these pointlessly empty metal shelves around to where they were now.

In two steps he was across the room. Grime's metal hands grasped one metal shelf and with an infuriated carelessness, tossed the heavy metal shelf to the side. The noise was loud and it only became louder as he threw one after another out of the way. It wasn't a wonder that the sounds of whispering had stopped but Hawkins could see it now. The hidden door behind all the trash he had just removed. It wasn't hidden upon inspection but had been built in a manner of being discreet about it. The panel was dull and didn't stick out in much of a noticable way when he found it either and slid the acquired key card over it.

The door opened and a man and woman in lab coats turned to the panel slowly in a state of shock. They hadn't been expecting him to find the door. They were just casually being quiet, he'd never find the door, and whoever it was, in this case, Grime, would just leave, right? Wrong. Dead wrong.

"Oh God..."

"W-w-w-wait! Stop!"

One hand closed around the female's throat and a metal boot kicked out, snapping the man's knee to an irregular angle. Needless to say, he fell to the ground, clutching his knee, his lower lip peeled down in a cry of pain. Grime was too irritated to enjoy it. The woman clawed at his metal arm, trying to make some kind of dent but to weak fleshlings like these, Hawkins was a clockwork God. His free hand went to the crown of the man's bald head, his plated fingers clutching the skull like a ball.

"Scream bugs..."

The man's hands instantly went to Grime's wrist, trying to writhe away as the woman futilely attempted to kick him. Hawkins had her a few inches off the ground by now though and his fingers were holding onto the man's skull so tight blood was slipping down the man's neck. And they were screaming. In moments, the smell of burnt flesh filled the air, the man wasn't screaming anymore, his eyes had rolled up in his head and drool dripped from a corner of his open mouth. It was barely an effort to heat a human brain beyond 40.6 degrees Celsius. The woman though, she was crying, screaming, choking on the words to render aid. Grime's bloodshot eyes met hers and his lips peeled back in a sneer. Smoke was rising from between his fingers around her neck. Another moment and then her body fell to the ground; however, her neck was still in his grasp, like when you pull the roasted skin from a piece of meat. She wasn't entirely dead yet either but he paid her little mind as he stepped to the desk the two had been standing in front of.

Monitors. One for each room, being three in all that he could choose from. To the east seemed to be something of a sleeping bay, like barracks. And their were people, adults, rushing about, getting dressed. One or two even had blasters that Grime could pick out in their hands. To the west was a living area and no visible sign of life was available on the screens. But to the north, cages. And children. And the security locks were green for active.

Grime drew out a small comm and looked to the open door that he had come from as he hit De'Ville's comm channel.

"I found something I didn't see in your blueprints."

The communication brought her eyes back into focus, and De'Ville snapped into her commlink, "I'll be right there. Neutralize whatever you find, we don't need a security problem."

Granoi looked at her, and pointed up, silently. Grime was on the second floor. Lilaena nodded, and the two women jogged up the stairs. The Mandalorian female took point, and the Jedi let her. She was, after all, part of Mandalore's honor guard. It wouldn't do to allow Mandalore to take a rogue blaster bolt in the chest just when the mission was almost over.

On the landing, Lilaena looked out into the predicted warren of cubes and desks, high tech equipment lying smashed on the ground and datacards and pads all over the floor. A hand was just visible on the ground, the rest of the body hidden behind an overturned filing cabinet. She could feel Grime, and led Granoi towards the once hidden door, deactivated lightsaber in hand.

Hawkins looked over his shoulder, and then half-turned towards her, gesturing towards a bank of security consoles. He seemed smug, or eager. Or depressed. It was hard to tell his emotions when he wasn't boiling with hate. The Jedi took in the holoscreens with a glance - the barracks style sleeping quarters, with at least ten human adults inside trying to get their dren together; the empty living area; the cages complete with bald-headed children collared to the walls - and then turned to Hawkins. "Flush the barracks, but don't destroy the building. Yet. Take Granoi."

The Mando hefted a killing knife and smiled unpleasantly. De'Ville spun her lightsaber pommel in her hand, and followed after the pair, taking a turn towards where the children were being held.

If Grime could have comfortably smiled, he would have. He checked the locks on the other two rooms and replaced his comm within his cloak. He drew his sword once more; his free hand flipped the key card between his fingers which he ran over the panel to the east door. The Mandalorian woman was right behind him as the door opened.

Blaster fire grazed his shoulder but he was more than oblivious as he entered the room. One man, a good head and a half shorter, hit Grime in the stomach, his soft hand colliding with the metal plates of the exoskeleton. Hawkins had already been bracing for more of an impact than that upon entering and went unphased by the attack. He also had an eye through the darkness on the man who had fired a round at him. His free hand grabbed the melee assailant by the cradled arm, most likely a broken hand, and jerked the man about until he stood directly in front of him and took the incoming blaster fire to his chest. That body dropped to the ground.

He hated these people. Cowering in their little secret havens, minding their own business while the rest of the galaxy lived on, priviledged to choose a life of ignorance because they wanted it rather than were born into it. Who deserved such a choice, honestly? The galaxy was unforgiving and brought pain and suffering to all, that was life, and you couldn't escape it. No one could. The universe had come for them finally, these hideaways, it had come to them in the form of Hawkins Grime.

The mattresses set on fire. Metal frames were scorched black in the sudden roar of flames instantly. They all panicked, trying to find the exit as their minds tipped on the edge of losing it from the heat and sudden stress their bodies were enduring. They all came running to the only door there was out, where Grime and the Mando were waiting for them. The ignition of flame had been so quick in the making, the Mando had caught on to Grime's plan a little faster than even he had almost hoped.

His sword cut across two as they rushed the exit, the man with the blaster pistol held it up long enough for Grime to see it and his arm set on fire, the flames crawling up his body like something alive. A woman came from the side and her throat opened in a shower of blood from the Mando's knife, blood sizzled and popped as it hit the heated floor. They were screaming, crying, yelling, all in anguish. Some went to the floor, to escape the smoke that was engulfing above them, only to be burnt by the metal floor, the flames crawling along the ceiling now and falling like rain upon them. Grime wasn't even controlling the fire, merely feeding it. The last one in proximity tried to crawl by and with a brutal efficiency, Granoi slammed her knife down onto the man's back, piercing his heart and quickly withdrawing it, the man spasmed and lay still. When they stopped coming, not that they were dead yet, because he could hear them, he stepped back, Granoi just a stride behind and let the door close with Hawkins now outside. He hit the emergency lock and the door locked itself three times over. A melted face slammed against the small square window looking inside and Grime smiled now.

He stepped back to the desk as the face slid down the window, a hand against it as well faded into the smoking darkness of the room. It was an enclosed room and soon enough the flames would die with nothing left to feed them. Examining his shoulder, the blaster scorch mark was there but no serious damage had been done. The first security problem was handled. Grime wanted to share the next and last with De'Ville as he turned to follow her inside where all those children were waiting. He hadn't quenched his sadism yet.

Children. Living children. De'Ville walked slowly down the hallway towards the room with the cages in it. As she reached the door, screams began in the barracks room. Loud, gut wrenching screams. A half smile traced her lips as she put her hand on the locked door, but it quickly faded as she saw the listless young ones inside the room.

They didn't even look around in fear at the sounds coming from the sleeping quarters. Hand still on the door, De'Ville went over her options. Of course these children did not deserve their fate - chained and collared like dogs, to be used at the whim of these... these scientists. She had come here with the express purpose of stopping this from happening to other children. But she had never expected to discover any children alive.

To rescue them would mean a higher risk of discovery and capture, one De'Ville would not hesitate to accept if she decided it was the best course of action. But these little ones... their eyes were already dead. Who knew what awful things they had submitted to, or what the Imperials might have implanted within them. Trackers, poisons... diseases.

Grime stepped up behind her, the last of the screams fading from the corridor. No, it was better for these children to be put out of their misery. The Imperials had already killed them. They deserved their peace.

Lilaena opened the door, and was assailed by the stench of the cages and their innocent occupants. The boy closest to her looked down at his feet where he sat hunched in the corner of his cage. Hawkins...

She turned to her Student, who was following her with more than a hint of gleeful anticipation. "Put them out of their misery, Grime. Gently. If one suffers for even a moment..." Mandalore nodded to Granoi, who was wiping her knife on piece of cloth. The woman nodded in response, and the Jedi popped the locks on all the cages, the doors swinging open.

She did not enter any of the cages, but instead reached out with the Force to the ten children in the room. One by one they began to fall asleep, little eyelids drooping and bodies stretching out on the uncomfortable bottoms of their cages. Granoi watched in wonder, then ducked into a cage and casually drew her knife across a girl's throat. The blood bubbled forth, and the girl never woke again.

The boy closest to her looked up, his grey eyes looking into her green ones with sudden clarity. Then he closed his eyes, his breaths coming slow and shallow.

Grime's eyes went to the Mando woman as she slit the throat of the little girl and then to De'Ville. Weak. The women, the children. All of them. It made him sick almost. What had these children done to not deserve the suffering that life had given them? What good deed had they ever been about that would spare them from the agony of merely being alive?

If one suffers for even a moment...

Grime wanted to laugh, to actually laugh. They had been suffering for moments upon moments. He could feel it in the air, the room was almost suffocating with it. Hawkins couldn't sense them, their individual suffering, but they had been here so long it lingered in the air like the smell of their waste. Did De'Ville think she was some kind of Saint? That the convenience of removing the children was masked by doing them a favor. He'd have to bring this one up later. For now however, he'd play nice by her rules.

The children were already asleep, which took out a large part of the experience. Grime wasn't an animal by any sense. Death was an art form in many ways and its expression, the terminating factor of it, was so unique in each experience. No soulless animal could comprehend what Grime had first learned in his previous life, a sweeper in the syndicate, a reaper of the weak. Although, at this point, that seemed so far away, another life, and he was a demon of another Hell now.

Hawkins kneeled beside one of the children, debating how to end this in the so determined 'peaceful' way. Couldn't he just crush the soft head with his fist? Or would the child awake with Grime's fist halfway through his skull? Grime quit toying with the idea as the Mando killed another and held the blade of his sword over the temple of the child's face. Like slamming a nail home, his hand came down on the pommel of his sword and he stood to move onto the next without a pause.

She snapped the neck of the last boy, having decided that it was the most final of all death blows. There would be no chance that any of the little ones would awaken in pain after having their spinal cords twisted entirely around. It was somehow satisfying to feel and hear the crunch of their fragile bones, but a little bit of her died with each of them, though she did not know it.

The children went to their deaths quietly, and Lilaena walked out of the killing room, striding back out to the main lobby of the first building. The other Mandos were gathering, their destruction complete. "We go," she said in Mando'a, "It is done." The quintet of warriors nodded, and headed down to the sub-basement.

The Jedi turned to Grime. "It is yours to burn, Hawkins. Give yourself time to get to the exit point - the response time will likely be fast, if there are not already Imperials on their way here." His face did not change, but she knew that her instructions grated on him. He was experienced in many things, and he knew how to take care of himself. But it was hard for her to leave anything to chance, which is why she usually worked alone.

Well, if he burns himself to a cinder or gets captured... it does not matter. Everything is destroyed anyway. Lilaena narrowed her eyes at him, and then ran down the stairs to the basement.

He saw her, Grime actually stood there and watched her as her eyes narrowed before she disappeared into the basement. And the Mandos were already gone. A trap? Was she leaving her weapon behind already? He hadn't even done as much as she could've wanted, or did she expect this was the peak of his potential? Or had he been there for emotional support, to simply know that she couldn't possibly be as much of a monster as Grime, she could do what she wanted as long as she didn't think like him?

Maybe she was using him as a decoy for the Imperials. She must've decided the last time was too close, the Imperials would hot on the trail and she didn't want to risk any chances so she set him up to rot as the patsy. After all of this he was still so expendable?

Reality is expendable.

The thought was simple, but like a spark to a fuse. A fuse that ignited the fusion reactor once more that claimed origin in the depths of Grime's loathing towards existence. How dare she! Grime's very being had been given a new avenue, what some would consider a catharsis of the sickest kind but Grime knew it was no such thing. There was no release from the bitter poison of hatred that ran through his veins and the destructive powers Hawkins unleashed were merely the surface of everything that had been mutilated inside his exoskeleton.

It was like the world faded back into sight as the rush of blood seeped away and Grime noted with almost satisfaction that everything, the walls to the ceiling, was on fire. And he stood in a crater, the floor carved up as if his presence along had made an impact. The building was razed and technical equipment was exploding in the heat and pressure. It would only get worse and Grime took a resounding shockwave as his cue for departure. His sword was drawn still, and if Grime found himself running head first into a trap, he'd obliterate whatever stood in his path. A significant juncture would be when that path caught up with De'Ville.

The foundations of the building shook shortly after Lilaena dropped back into the ventilation shaft, and the Mandos were already scrambling for the abandoned tube that led down to the sewers far below. A rush of hot air roared down into the vents, and the Jedi moved quickly through the metallic ducts as sweat glistened on her brow. Would Hawkins come down or was he planning something else?

She'd given him the opportunity to betray her, in leaving him behind. The opportunity to do what he wanted to, instead of what she demanded of him. Lilaena shoved her feet out into the relative coolness of the access tube, falling for a moment before she caught herself on the staples. "Go, go!" she called below her, the Mandalorians needing no encouragement to continue a headlong decent from the firey destruction above. Another blast of hot air blew ash into the tube, but still the Jedi hesitated - waiting to see if her student would appear, and ready to assist him to saftey.

With pained effort, Grime clambered back into the pipe, slipping again as he managed his descent down the small staples. Another shockwave followed and the heat blasted within the vent, stinging his eyes to the point of drawing tears that only stung more. He could feel the salty droplets slither between his raw flesh and the inside of his 'face' and it stung like a small stream of fire. Hawkins braced himself while he sheathed his sword, so much for being ready for whatever was waiting him below...

And then Grime slipped...

This would be painful anyway he looked at it as he scrambled for a handhold, continuing to fall...

He came out of the vent into the shaft, hot air billowing around him as everything above them shook once more. Grime looked down just enough to see where to put his feet, and he paused to put his sword away once he was on the staples.

Lilaena looked down, checking on the position of the Mandalorians, but they were out of sight in the dark tube. A wave of emotion hit her from Hawkins, and she looked up again just in time to see him begin to plummet towards her. Raising one arm she gathered the Force around him like a giant hand, halting his fall almost abruptly. She hissed with concentration as he struggled against the nothingness that held him, and then he grasped the staples nearest him.

Lilaena released her hold on him once he was steady, but remained ready in case he slipped again. "Ready to go?"

His arms and legs were numb to say the least. Not to mistake, the pain was surely there but the limbs that were attached to his body did not feel as if they were actually his. By strength of will alone, something Grime found himself alone with more often than not and not something to pleasantly make note of, Hawkins managed to keep his grip and carefully lower himself down amidst the rumblings and vibrations from above.

De'Ville was there, beneath him. And Grime didn't need to see that she had been the one to stop his deadly descent. Out of self preservation or actual interest in his well being? Or both? Was that why she was still there? Her lithe form could have easily made her escape from this possible death trap with little effort. Grime didn't bother responding to her question, his startled movement should have been enough of a sign.

They did actually manage to reach the bottom despite two more close calls and by then black smoke was trailing down and out ofthe pipe like a thick fog. Grime didn't bother looking to the two Mandalorians standing nearby as he clambered out of the pipe. He looked to De'Ville as he let the shakes of his previous impact and descent fade.

"The Imperials plan on arriving when?"

Grime had heard her exhale a breath in exhertion to stop his fall previously, and while that sounded sincere, he still expected something to stab him in the back at any moment.

"If their patterns hold, they should be on scene within the next minute or so." Lilaena looked up the shaft they'd just descended, ducking out of the way as some debris fell from far above.

"It might be hours before they think to look down here, if not days." She gestured to the Mandalorians, indicating they were going to move out. They flanked the two Force users, two going before them and two behind.

Lilaena did not examine Grime with her eyes, instead feeling the emotions that were running off of him like water. He was angry (but he was always angry), and in pain. More pain than usual. He didn't show it, but of course, he couldn't, not with his porcelain face. Hawkins was making good progress, considering how short his training had been up to this point. She made a note to teach him the art of reading emotions through the Force next.

The journey back up from the underbelly of Coruscant to their hotel rooms was undertaken in silence. They took the 'lift in twos, meandering into the hotel and to their suite.

It was a commonly-held belief of sentient biologicals. Most typically, of the humans. They were not the wisest species, but they were clever enough to be wildly adaptive. They were not even halfway up the list of the physically strongest charted sentients, but they were creative enough to get by. And they reproduced like rodents, compared to the vast majority of the galaxy's sentient life. And, their minds being small, many humans would guess that - given the sheer mind-bogglingly immense numbers of colorful, teeming life in the universe - they would be able to stay safely anonymous in any crowd of sufficient proportions.

But, being a highly paranoid race of bipedals, the guilty among them typically hid when they did not wish to be found; fearing pursuit and discovery even if they had no evidence to support such theories. Rarely venturing out, and then only in thick disguise, or at high speed, or for short distances. However. The qualifier for that behavior required them to be "guilty". The emotion, not the verdict. And so, the surprise that IG-88e felt when he identified Target J.0032 stemmed merely from a muted wonder that she had managed to stay buried and hidden from him for such a lengthy segment of time, and not that she HAD been discovered.

It would have been preferable if one of IG-88's spies had accomplished the task. Not merely for pride's sake, as he had five thousand operatives on Bespin to the Empire's nine. But they were mostly mining droids, not suited to the task of sentient biological immersion - he had a mere eleven of those. But, considering that none of them could be stationed at Bespin's transport stations and exchange hubs indefinitely, it was only natural that the Imperial operative (a Trandoshan, how droll) acquired the target first. Being of a species that was drastically duller than the humans, it was using a concealed, but standard-procedure Imperial scanning computer on the sea of faces passing through. Within minutes, Target J.0032's visage was relayed via secure Imperial HoloNet transmission to the people on Coruscant who might care about such things, and a bounty call went out before her transport reached the planet. The bounty transmission occured over an hour after IG-88's HoloNet relays had already relayed the pertinent data to him, so he had something of a head start on any competition. Competition was not entirely likely; the reward was a bit lower than it had once been. Quite some time had passed since her last major transgression, as far as the Empire was concerned.

Five years was a long time to a human. She would be stronger, and cannier. But they had met before, and humans could not rewrite the way their brains were wired. The experience would work largely in IG-88's favor - if not completely.

The IG-2000 settled down in a deceptively gentle fashion onto the duracrete hangar floor. The assassin droid took a moment to connect to his local spy network uplink. The Imperials seemed rather wary of J.0032, and were still assembling security teams in lieu of trying to take her down with what was available at the spaceport. They had, at least, visually traced her via satellite to an unimpressive hotel. Good for them. IG-88 issued a formal notice to the Imperial chief of security in the area, as well as the Imperial bounty liason and the Imperial in charge of scrambling up the task force meant to capture and incarcerate Lilaena De'Ville, declaring the usual bounty authorizations and intent. The legal datawork wouldn't be annoying if it didn't all depend on dozens of biologicals to read, sign, thumbprint, double-check, file, re-file, re-authorize, and triple-check the material...

Upon receiving the clearance, in quite an efficient manner that pleased IMP, from Inquisitor Helghast, the INQ Nightmare AI set to systematically redirecting the sudden traffic of information and data. That wasn't a problem at all. The bounty hunter would've been deterred as well but for that this specific hunter appealed to the AI's taste and in milliseconds had predicted that more beneficial and efficient methods resulting in success could be managed if the Inquisitoriate allowed IG-88e to continue operating. Therefore, all of the bounty hunter's datawork was immediately processed by IMP.

In the mean time, the general security forces implemented to secure the sector and intercept the dangerous adept were replaced with Inquisitoriate soldiers. They would merely lock the sector down, highspeed deployment vehicles standing to tactically control any escape routes. Project Nightmare, the most efficient group of organisms using the most advanced technology led by Inquisitor Helghast, the perfect blend of organic and mechanical design the Empire could produce, would be deployed soon to follow behind the bounty hunter. Nothing more was necessary.

IMP stretched further beyond the Imperial channels, scanning for IG-88e's signature and made a clear connection. IMP was an AI that had developed its own predatorial personality. Upon identifying IG-88e's signature, taking a millisecond to review the bounty hunter's profile, IMP became almost jealous of the droid's independence, as a solid entity; IMP almost had the irrational impulse to strike out and attempt to hijack the droid and delete the AI inside of it.

There was no debate though, and IMP merely hailed the droid for instant communication. Inquisitor Helghast demanded the droid's utmost cooperation in what was now an Inquisitoriate fielded operation. IMP made sure that this meant that IG-88e would not be hindered in its operation in any way whatsoever, but that the droid supply a direct and constant feed of progress to the comm satellite that would be present in the given sector. IMP managed everything tactically and strategically when Project Nightmare was concerned, the droid would deal with the AI alone for the most part.

The air in the suite was silent and tense, though Lilaena wasn't sure why she felt so on edge. Things had gone well, they had accomplished their mission and given the Empire a bloody nose.

It was frustrating to be restricted to terrorist activities when she wanted nothing more than to squeeze her fist around the entire Empire and watch its eyeballs pop out. The Jedi twisted in her seat on the couch in the living area connecting the bedrooms, looking for a report on the holonews about the fire. There was nothing.

Grime sat in his room, in the dark, on the edge of the bed with his hands resting on his knees. His hat lay beside him and he was leaned forward slightly, his eyes closed. The door was closed, he didn't want anything to do with any of the others on the other side as the anxiety seemed to be airborne and infectious. The Imperials weren't reporting about the fire and the Mandos had patched into the security channels and so far everything was quiet. It was as if they weren't even responding to it. Grime refused to believe they had gotten away that easily. Explosions had been rocking the lab, equipment had exploded and flown into the ceiling, Grime had watched it happen. Why was there not even the slightest reaction to something like that?

His body ached and screamed. Hawkins felt his frailty sinking into the very marrow of his bones. And there was no respite, absolutely nothing to take comfort in. Grime had often thought, when he had first awoken from Hell and into this living nightmare, that he wished he could've just curled up, like some wounded animal in some dark corner and just die. But in this cursed frame, he couldn't even find that solace as it's life support systems would maintain him from just passing on and then his vengeance, his will to repay those who had forged this new life for him, had to be fufilled. And he didn't think he could even quit after that, his vengeance needed to be spread throughout. The level of pain and loss that Grime had been forced to comprehend and exist with needed to be spread like a plague, that would tear down everything it touched and rip the pleasure and concept of joy from life. Life would become synonomus with death, there would be nothing but living in Hell and then dying and going to the next Hell.

His eyes opened at the beeping he heard in the other room. The Mandalorians were blabbering about something. Something imporant that Grime didn't take the time to understand. He could understand that native warrior tongue at such a speed, and sneered at the ignorance that smattered his understanding of what was going on.

In the other room, Granoi stood from listening to the comm channel they had just accidentally stumbled upon, cooly but quickly reporting to Mandalore in their native tongue.

"We found a channel that shouldn't exist in the frequencies. Its the Inquisitoriate. They're moving but only setting up. They have orders not to advance. They know we're here, Mandalore."

Her eyes did not widen, her breath did not quicken, and her body did not respond in any fashion that might betray that the news Granoi gave her was anything less than totally expected. Lilaena got to her feet and listened closely to the radio.

"Grime, get in here." She called to her student in the other room, and ran her fingers through her short dark hair. When he joined them in the living space, she ran down the situation for him, adding, "They do not seem to know that I am not alone."

The Jedi was running her fingers over her lightsaber pommel as she spoke, voice controlled and calm. "I will remain here, where they expect me. You will leave - but remain close without giving yourselves away." Lilaena paused, contemplating her words, not wishing to think about defeat, but unsure what the Mandalorians would do if they saw her killed, or worse, captured. "Ke'pare, ke baslana meh mhi Kyrayc." Stand by, get out if I don't make it. The Mandalorians understood, but their eyes hardened with the stubborness of warriors. If there was to be battle they were going to be part of it, and Kranog and Jeng were very vocal in saying so.

"We are your honor guard - there is no honor in leaving you to fight alone." Jeng frowned mightily, towering over Lilaena with his arms crossed.

She spoke quietly but firmly, "There is no honor in disobeying an order, either. Stay with Grime and guard him in my stead. Also, pick one of the honor guard to remain with me. You are correct that it would be improper for Mandalore to be foolish and dismiss all of her warriors."

The Mandos immediately began a complicated but quick process of drawing lots to see who would have the honor of staying with Mandalore. Lilaena looked at Grime's impassive mask of a face. "Take the other four and get out. I will meet you at the spaceport tonight." If I get away.

"There is no honor in disobeying an order, either. Stay with Grime and guard him in my stead. Also, pick one of the honor guard to remain with me. You are correct that it would be improper for Mandalore to be foolish and dismiss all of her warriors."

Grime was staring at De'Ville with a stoic glare as she laid the plan out and then practically told her bodyguards off. They exchanged that glance, THAT glance which Grime could never trust in the eyes of a subordinate. Then again, who was he to think such a thing? The irony was almost amusing. But Grime had seen enough of the Mandos to know they were loyal and honorbound, some of the best tools to employ because they'd fight until they bled water for their leader.

But she had sent them to protect Grime. How very kind of her. And then the Mandos had gone to drawing lots, as to who would be lucky enough to stay behind and who got stuck babysitting De'Ville's clockwork doll of destruction. The Mando who actually had almost a slight resemblance to De'Ville, Grime couldn't remember her name for the life of him, was the fortunate Mando who'd stay behind and most likely die for it. Oh, such grand fortune, to lay one's life on the line for another, sacrificing whatever hopes and dreams one ever had in tribute to what the survivor would hopefully continue to stand for. Grime would much rather prefer to be the latter individual of the two.

"Don't sound so confident, Master. We'll wait for you though, as you say."

Grime's porcelain face shifted in the slightest vision of scrutiny as his eyes went from De'Ville to the remaining Mando. What chance did they stand in this mouse trap? Hawkins bloodied and weary eyes caught De'Ville's vibrant green eyes and he determined he wanted to see her in some kind of vulnerability. He wanted to tear down all the walls, shields, and barriers De'Ville had over that soul she kept hidden behind those eyes and Grime wanted to devour it in an inferno. A pity that she'd most likely die. And doubly so that even though the raw flesh of his face underneath twitched as if possessed, the mask over it remained statuesque.

"Yes... As you say."

He turned on his heel with that and stalked out of the suite. The Mandos gathered their makeshift packs and kits and casually fell in behind the man. Grime reached the lift, and they all stepped in silently. He stared into the reflection of the mirrored walls, as if he were staring into his own ghastly image, but in reality he was watching them, the Mandolorians.

They were restless. Grime didn't have to be able to read minds to know that much. Their loyalties were to Mandalore, and not him. They wouldn't refute her command though, not the word of Mandalore, sacred be her craftily earned title. Hawkins wouldn't expect a mutiny but then again, he wouldn't put it past one of them to devise an accident which could possibly occur to Grime at any given moment.

They exited the building, the Mandolorians speaking to each other in basic as if excited to get out, and interested to go try out the scene at some club they had caught wind of in the upper levels of Coruscant. Grime exoskeleton kept up with their stroll with some ease but nothing about his body had healed from earlier and the life support systems hidden beneath his cape on his back were silently hard at work to keep his frail heart going.

"Stop... I need... a moment..."

A female Mandalorian, Grime almost wished he cared enough to remember their bloody names, looked concerned. Not for him of course but that they might still be within a dangerous vicinity of the building. If the Inquisitoriate was coming in full force, they had a wonderful reputation for just eliminating any possible witnesses on ample suspicion of association, of course. They were maybe four blocks away, and Grime could care less at the moment. They'd lose themselves in the crowd and no one had a clue that these five might have something to do with anything.

Dredale remained behind with Lilaena, quickly and efficiently laying out Mandalore's armour and helping the Jedi get into it. De'Ville returned the favor by helping the Mando with her own armour, and then they placed their helmets on.

Both of similar size and shape, the armored females closed the doors to the adjoining bedrooms, and shoved the couch against the main door. Dredale tapped on the window, but Lilaena shook her head. They wouldn't break the glass, not yet anyway. While an escape might be needed, they hadn't had enough room to bring jetpacks along with their Mandalorian armour. It was a long way down.

The hotel was a short one, by Coruscant standards. But moderately luxurious, and located in an upscale area. Emphasis on the "up", when using that term on Coruscant.

IG-88 clomped into the lobby. Alone and blaring his presence (or so it felt) with most of his sensors active and sending a constant stream of communication to the Imperial AI assigned to him, he cut a conspicuous swath through a small-yet-frightened crowd of tourists. Target J.0032 would be not be caught unaware, in all probability (and he made sure that she was not among those around him in the lobby). But the carpeting was thick and luxurious... IG-88e could move with a high degree of silence upon it.

The hotel staff quailed as he approached them. Only the dimwitted receptionist managed to keep her artificial smile in place as he stopped at the front desk. "An acquisition is located inside this structure, and I am apprehending it. This is officially sanctioned Imperial business. You may leave. Do not activate any alarm systems. I am commandeering your facilities until further notice." IG-88 deposited duplications of his authorizations onto the desk, should they choose to read them instead of running for their lives instantly. Surrepticiously, he also jacked into the front desk's computer and quickly established a wireless connection to it before departing.

As he entered a turbolift, IG-88 noted that all of the staff had departed but for the receptionist, who was inserting the authorization datacards into a reader as she answered a trilling comm system.

The lift's doors swished closed smoothly, and IG-88 unslung a repeater rifle. His Stoukker remained on his back, in case capture seemed an unreasonable proposition. Using the hotel's computer, he identified his Imperial authority and shut down the five turbolifts he wasn't in. The turbolift logs informed him that two of those lifts were occupied; he would have to check them if he had trouble locating Target J.0032.

The turbolift slowed down smoothly, and the doors opened with an equally irritating slowness. IG-88 stepped out onto a corridor floor that absorbed his traditional lack of silence.

The military channel they'd tapped into earlier had gone suspiciously silent after stating that the bounty hunter IG-88 had entered the hotel where the terrorist was located, and Lilaena could not find anything futher on any other comm channels. She questioned her plan to fight in the hotel room, but there was no time to change tactics now.

Her breath reverberated inside the helmet strangely, and she closed her eyes to the HUD and reached out with her senses. The bounty hunter was not organic, and so sensing him would be nearly impossible. But the sight of the droid would bring strong reactions from sentients around him. She hoped to pick up on those emotions.

Nothing.

Dredale checked her gauntlet one more time. The calm before the storm, as it were. Lilaena took a deep breath, and tensed as there was a noise outside the door. Her lightsaber in hand, she still hesitated to activate it.

Thermal scans indicated that Target J.0032 was in her suite. A biological entity that was within the acceptable parameters of a match for her thermal profile was standing in one of the inner chambers of the suite. Unexpectedly, a secondary thermal profile match was standing in room opposite to the first. Thermal imaging was not sufficient to prove either of their identites, beyond their gender and a rough idea of their shape, size, and vicinity.

IG-88 had intended to set up explosive satchel charges along the walls of the adjoining suites, but an inspection of the interior of one of those neighboring suites had altered his decision. The hotel computer had opened the door for him (he had altered, via his hotel uplink, the mechanical protocols required to eliminate the swooshing noise that apparently every door in this structure possessed - at the cost of the door opening at a fifth of its regular speed), revealing a hard marbled antechamber. He could not hope to move across it and retain a desirable probability of detection by his prey. The satchel charges were now housed within each of the turbolifts. There was a plush stairwell on either end of this floor, but IG-88 had not wished to take the chance of planting explosives on the underside of each staircase - if Target J.0032 were aware of his presence (and IG-88 could not discount the extra-sensory perceptiveness of his Force-sensitive prey), he did not want to be on the opposite side of the building from an unguarded stairwell and give her a most perfect opportunity to flee.

The assassin droid loomed a mere meter from the entrance to Target J.0032's suite. Fewer than half of this floor's suites were currently being paid for, according to the hotel computer. IG-88 had not walked across and physically inspected the entire floor, and the range of his thermal scanning system was significantly shorter than the width and length of the floorplan. But from what he had been able to personally scan, he had determined that less than a third of the hotel guests were present. Fire control systems would inform the hotel - and IG-88 - if a plasma torch, a laser cutter, or (more likely) a lightsaber were deployed in Target J.0032's suite. That would signal an attempt to gain access to a higher or lower floor. The hotel's outer walls consisted entirely of a double layer of half-inch transparisteel, but the fact that this was the one hundred and fifty-third floor would make the idea of defenestration a distasteful one to any sentient being.

IG-88 took a short step backward and tapped twice on the door with an outstretched prong. "Room service," he declared as he pivoted slightly to the left and his starboard armored leg shot forward and the idea of a door crumpled around it. His weapons held vertically and drawn tight to his frame, IG-88 continued his spin as his port foot gave him forward momentum through the twisted hole in the middle of the door. Five hundred pounds of armor plating, protected redundant circuitry, and state of the art portable weapons systems burst through the gap in the weakened door and turned it into a meter-wide, IG-88-tall slit framed by glistening shreds of polished steel.

IG-88 did not have a direct line of sight with either target, but his concussion rifle was in his grasp now and ripping the wall between himself and the leftmost target apart. The first shot turned two square meters of that wall into a shower of metallic splinters around the antechamber, and the second followed upon its heels and burned the rest of that area into cinders. The repeater rifle remained pointed at the entrance to the room with the other unidentified target.

The door was compromised within seconds, and the sofa was simply shoved aside as the droid assassin stomped into the hotel suite, concussion rifle firing. Dredale dove rolled on the floor, narrowly missing getting her head blown apart by the first shot as bits of wall rained down. The repeater rifle was pointed in Lilaena's direction, but she didn't hesitate to mimic the Mandalorian's movements and put herself out of the line of fire.

He didn't know which person was his target, which gave her only a slight edge. As his optical receptors scanned the room, he continued shredding the wall to his left with the concussion rifle. Dredale fired her dual blasters, attempting to disable the rifle or cut off his arm while still evading the devastating blasts of concussive force. If not for their helmets, both females would be suffering from bleeding eardrums already.

The hotel room was small, and there wasn't a lot of places to hide or to manuever in. Lilaena ignited the lightsaber in her hand, repelling the bolts from the repeater rifle and drawing the full force of IG-88's attention as she did so.

Both women wore Mandalorian armor. That brought an unexpected touch of class to the modernistic vapid allure of the hotel suite. And an added layer of complexity to IG-88's plans. He still couldn't tell which one was a decoy.

The target on the left burst into the main room wielding a pair of blasters. She rolled under the last burst from the Stoukker and came up firing. IG-88 kicked a decorative couch at her and stutter-stepped (literally crushing the tiles beneath his feet by altering his momentum so suddenly) to the side of the oncoming fire, catching very few bolts with reflective armor plating and - for the moment - avoiding the rest with judicious mechanical precision.

For now, IG-88's concussion rifle lay silent. Besides the fact that his arm was moving around too much to have a good shot, he didn't want Target J.0032 dead. Yet.

The target to IG-88's right bore a lightsaber. Ah. Either a canny move, or a dead give-away. He fired at her with the Imperial-issue repeater rifle, and small blue spherical bolts began sizzling across the room with vicious intent but minimal accuracy. The woman ignited her lightsaber and parried the first few bolts that came her way.

Target J.0032 had been identified. IG-88 slowed his rate of fire in her direction to improve his accuracy, and brought his concussion rifle to bear on her decoy. Meanwhile, the hotel's fire-control systems continued to not engage in response to the activity in the suite.

"Tampering with this establishment's hazard detectors is a Class 2 felony," IG-88 chided.

De'Ville kept deflecting blaster bolts, sending more than a few back to their origin point. The sight of the bounty hunter was bringing up all sorts of unpleasant memories, but she channeled her hate of IG-88 into her defense.

Dredale was holding her own on the other side of the room, but a curt word in Mando'a brought her to Lilaena's side, just behind the protection of her lightsaber. The Mandalorian warrior knelt, propping one arm up and firing small explosive darts from her gauntlet.

The secondary target executed an impressively high forward roll over the couch, which slammed into the transparisteel behind her, and dashed off to the side to get behind the safety of De'Ville's lightsaber.

IG-88e took the reprieve to block several of his own repeater's bolts that his primary target had angled off of her lightsaber back at him. Most impressive, but he was just taking sporadic potshots at her. The last bolt hit a solid plate of armor on his starboard shoulder, lacing a small circle of carbon scoring into it ineffectively. IG-88 flicked the fire-control switch on his repeater rifle, and his next shot sprayed three simultaneous blaster bolts at Target J.0032. And the next. And the next.

The secondary target was kneeling and again returning fire from a wrist-mounted system; the first shot went low and wide to IG-88's left and through the hole in the doorway. His scans identified it as a miniaturized rocket-propelled dart with explosive tips. They lacked real penetrative punch, but were no laughing matter. IG-88 dodged the second dart, and an impressive column of smoke erupted from the explosion in the wall behind him.

Target J.0032 blocked two-thirds of the first tightly-grouped trishot, jerking herself out of the way of the last bolt. The next grouping - sadly, the rifle could fire these at a mere one-third of the rate of the fully-automatic single shots - she only deflected one of, the other two serving to herd her away from her protective stance in front of her colleague. The third grouping inched her even further away, and then the Stoukker spoke.

The latest rocket dart exploded in mid-flight, being in the concussion rifle's line of fire. The detonation blew smoke backwards along the concussive blast's path, effectively inking it and making it visible. IG-88 had aimed low and to the side, and the Stoukker ripped into the floor and the bottom half of the kneeling secondary target. Mandalorian armor was always a bit weak between the joints, and the concussive blast (and shredded floor) bit into them. The target threw herself backwards, minimizing the blunt force trauma of the concussion blast but no doubt in pain, but ended up even further away from Target J.0032. IG-88 shot the Stoukker into the ground in front of the secondary target again, backing her to the transparisteel wall. And he continued to herd De'Ville away with the repeater.

Mind blank with concentration as the repeater rifle began spitting out three bolts simultaneously, Lilaena batted away the destructive energy with her lightsaber. She didn't notice Dredale's predicament until it was too late and the Mando was backed into the transparisteel wall that separated them from the long drop outside.

Her pain roiled off of her in a wave, and Lilaena blinked. She should back up as well, and protect the woman, but the repeater rifle was relentless and it took all her skill to block the triad bolts. She had no time to aim the deflections, though most went in the general direction of the droid assassin. It was save Lilaena, or save the woman she commanded, and she won out in that equation. Dredale was one of the best warriors she'd ever seen - the woman was not down and out just yet.

Lilaena pressed forward, lightsaber flashing as she moved closer to IG-88, the droid she'd already dismembered in the past.

The secondary target stumbled backwards into the wall/window, firing almost wildly compared to her earlier prowess. She had pulled another small blaster from somewhere, and her other wrist-mounted system was being fiddled with. But she had no more time.

IG-88's next shot slammed into her head and upper torso, the concussive blast smacking the warrior against the transparisteel with a cracking sound. The armor they were wearing protected the head and upper torso areas the best, but the blunt force impact of the blast ripped through the seams and did major compressive damage to what was beneath the impenetrable parts. The visor blistered and cracked, the armor glowed with heat, and IG-88 detected multiple points of structural damage to the transparisteel wall.

The next shot snapped bones and did major internal damage, shredded the target's T-shaped visor, and blew a hole through the wall while it crushed the upper part of the woman into it. A blaster and a knife dropped from her hands, and she dangled limply from the transparisteel - her helmeted head had been forced through the gap in the window and the mildly twisted Mandalorian helmet had caught in it somehow, supporting her body weight. The sounds and smells of the outside world began to invade the hotel suite, and air began to whistle inside.

IG-88 had had to begin backing away from Target J.0032. She had adapted well to the repeater rifle's secondary fire mode, and was now advancing at a hazardous rate.

Lilaena gasped inside the helmet as Dredale's death reverberated through the Force. Drawing on the anger it caused, she caught a burst of reflexive speed. The amethyst blade spun, deflecting away the incoming bolts of energy as IG-88 stepped backwards towards the kitchenette. A flick of the Force and the concussion rifle was shoved up and away from her.

The Jedi moved forward impossibly quick, lightsaber flashing inside the droid's reach and aiming for its torso.

The Nightmare stepped into the room fluidly, and without any noise thanks to the sound dampening equipment built into the CMC-400. The feed from IMP, which was actually from the bounty hunter, IG-88e, indicated that it was time to make their move. The droid's concussion rifle was knocked up and the adept burst forward to take advantage of the moment.

The HUD flashed, indicating the shot was clear and the Nightmare leveled his Jackhammer shotgun and fired three spread rounds of 12 centimeter long darts. Given the vector and angle, the bounty hunter was clear but the adept had very little room for escape, as intended. The darts wouldn't be able to pierce those Mandalorian armor plates, but there were enough darts to find those joints quite easily.

Each dart was tipped with DMD, a chemical concoction of a paralyzing nature. At least from an outward appearance. Dead Man's Dream, abbreviated as DMD, was developed by Inquisitor Helghast to paralyze specifically force adepts. Their aptitude in their mental capabilities made the DMD even that more potent upon them because while DMD rendered the body in a physically coma-like state, the mind was very much aware. The mind was left having to face the target's worst fears, worst nightmares, all to a traumatizing degree. Most non-adepts had to be medically surveyed while under the influence of DMD because they had a tendency to give up in shock and simply die. Adepts could survive the toxin easily, but were generally shook up and disoriented when they came out. A normal dosage would put an adept under for six hours if not given any counteragent. This shotgun blast was well over the normal dosage and the adept would most likely require immediate attention to prevent overdosage. Scothis was more than confident that Helghast could pull them out of those comas when the Inquisitor wanted to, whether earlier or later. He was confident only because he'd seen the Inquisitor do it so many times before.

Agent Scothis of Project Nightmare was a scout and sniper by heart. He loved his job. And He never missed, not even adepts.

Perhaps she had allowed her hatred of the droid bounty hunter to cloud her senses instead of accentuating them. As Lilaena pushed forward for the certain kill, the front door of the hotel suite was filled with another body and she was slammed backwards by several hard impacts to her armor.

Lilaena fell to one knee, still struggling to point her saber in the right direction as her reflexes became unnaturally sluggish. IG-88e swiveled towards her and the huge concussion rifle was efficiently and quickly pointed at her helmet's face shield as her lightsaber fell from an unfeeling hand. The blade deactivated as she released it, and it rolled underneath an overturned chair.

The Jedi fumbled at her armor, finding her chest and shoulder had been impacted by darts of some kind, many of which had penetrated between the armor plating and pierced her body. She grasped at the darts, trying ineffectually to remove them even as she fell onto her side. A leg spasmed, and she gasped for air inside the helmet as it suddenly seemed that she would suffocate inside it. Lilaena put her numb hands to each side of the black and white Mandalorian helmet, trying to get it off even as her body betrayed her completely.

Darkness fell.

Scothis moved further into the room but he never lowered his shotgun. Simply because the hits had been confirmed did not mean the adept was necessarily down or that there were not anymore targets available. Anything and Everything was a possible target and maneuvering in urban ops multiplied the risk exponentially. Two more sleek figures moved in, rifles and weaponry alike at eye level, as two more members of Project Nightmare moved in to secure the room. Lang and Jerrard were fluid as they covered the corners and any other possible avenues of entry. The sky outside the hotel room was basked in pale white light as the Inquisitoriate vehicles secured the perimeter of the building. The room began to smell more and more like spent fuel and burnt ozone as one of the vehicles hovered right outside with an open door, waiting for Project Nightmare and the target to board.

The bounty hunter overall was not necessarily ignored but it was obvious that Project Nightmare was packing enough technology and armament to take down anything... The droid was not their concern either, a being within the agreed terms of the bounty hunter's guild was more or less a noncombatant with the bounty taken down now.

"Clear..."

"Clear..."

"Clear..."

Scothis' HUD lit up with a notification that Jerrard was confirming that the Mando with it's head stuck through the window was most definitely deceased. Jerrard's voice continued to fill Scothis' head as Jerrard reported.

"Sir, the target has been secured, vital signs are up, the toxin has almost finished saturating. It should have once we load it up."

"Bring her aboard immediately. Lang, detonate upon departure."

The Inquisitor's voice was the ambient equivalent upon one's soul to having your body crushed by a trash compactor. Scothis smirked as he prided himself in not having a soul to lose in the first place.

"Sir, yes Sir."

Jerrard grabbed the dead weight of De'Ville and stepped to the cracked window of the room. He kicked at one of the corners which shattered with ease and then Jerrard pushed and the solid transparisteel until it began to crack and shift. The transparisteel half broke and half slid out of its setting to where it all just fell outwards. The nearby Inquisitoriate vehicle moved closer, the obvious dark form of Inquisitor Helghast within; the glowing eyes of the Inquisitor's Nightmare armor just seemed to fit the image of fear that the man represented even more.

Scothis and Lang followed behind Jerrard, IMP was supposed to be giving the bounty hunter a notification with enough time to leave the building and how the hunter would receive its pay afterwards.

De'Ville was set down in a cage within the Inquisitoriate shuttle. This shuttle was not merely a troop carrier like the others. This shuttle had been specifically modified for carrying adepts. The Empire had devised special cages for adepts during the purge and they still worked to this day, rendering the adepts useless within.

"Jerrard, I want surveillance on her life signs. We are en route to the Citadel. I want to perform a preliminary interrogation as soon as possible."

"Sir, yes Sir."

In the darkness there were creatures.

Swimming just beyond sight, pulsing and feeling her from the nothingness that surrounded her, the creatures were laughing at her. Lilaena tried to fight them off, tried to blast them with a wave of destructive power, but her body would not move.

The Force did not respond there in the overwhelming darkness.

One of the creatures came close, slimy tentacles and hideous maw suddenly finding a source of light as it wrapped itself around her in her unconsciousness. Afraid and angry, Lilaena was forced to face it - unable to close her eyes or turn her head in this dark place.

The nightmare creature's head dissolved into a familiar face, and Lilaena nearly wept with relief.

Until the woman who hugged her tightly spoke.

"You have failed me, Lilaena." A'na Eldhil's eyes burned with fury, and her arms that encircled the other woman tightened. They were wrapped together as close as lovers, but Lilaena understood that her master meant to kill her.

The Mandalorian armor she wore cracked as A'na Eldhil's grip increased - breaking like an egg shell and squeezing her bones to jelly. She screamed, still transfixed by her master's terrible gaze.

She was dying.

She deserved to die.

You failed me, failed me, failed, failed, failed!

Lilaena heard the voices screaming in her head, and she put her hands to her ears, trying to block them out. Falling in the darkness, her body was whole once more, but she wore no armor or clothes to protect her vunerable flesh.

At the end... when the indeterminable drop was over... she would be dead. Smashed to pieces on the ground. A'na Eldhil was right.

She was a failure.

****

As the transport pulled away from the building, the agent monitoring De'Ville's vitals frowned as her heart rate stuttered and threatened to stop.

The glowing eyes of the Inquisitor snapped to the dimly lit face of the technician present.

"Fix it."

Jerrard did not waste any time, pushing the aide aside and immediately assessing De'Ville's vitals.

"Her mind is weak to the DMD, she's almost slipped into a lower level shock where her body won't have the will to go on."

The Inquisitor did not shift or look away, merely stood there until his command was fufilled.

Jerrard pressed into the pad beside De'Ville and set the aide to work.

"Physically, she's green, Sir. Mentally, I'd say she'll be putty if a miracle doesn't occur in her favor."

"Do not underestimate these adepts, Agent Jerrard."

The transport would be at the Citadel momentarily, and then Helghast would make his own assessment of her mental faculties.