As my senses slowly filtered back into my conscious mind, one crystal-clear thing speared through my brain: pain.

My nerves felt like they had been put through a shredder several times, raw and bloody, making it impossible to concentrate. It felt like the Force was gone for a moment before I realised it was still there, but I was unable to focus on it as pain surged through my body, preventing me from concentrating on my connection long enough to use the Force.

As the pain grew worse, I screamed. The sound echoed around the room I was in, though with only a handful of background lights from various consoles, it was hard to make out anything about where I currently was.

At that moment I noticed that the usual parts of the HUD generated by the Interface were gone. I mentally commanded my Inventory to open, hoping it would respond and I could escape, only for a sharp, violent stab of pain to shoot through my mind. Once I’d grunted my way through that, I realised the Interface had failed to respond. Somehow whatever was blocking my connection to the Force was also cutting me off entirely from the Interface. Meaning that, somehow, I was in a place more steeped in the Dark Side than the Bando Gora base on Kidriff.

Kriff, that was not an encouraging thought.

I took a few deep breaths, trying to centre myself, though that proved hard as more random bursts of pain echoed through my head. For that, I realised that someone had placed a mask over my face. It covered everything but my eyes and as I realised it was the source of these seemingly random bursts of pain, another burst thrust into my skull.

These impromptu blasts of pain were generating a buzzing in my mind, which, I suspected, was what was disrupting my Force and Interface connections. With that painfully understood, I turned my head, taking in where I was.

My limbs were restrained by machinery. From what I could tell, most were held by some form of cuffs that, if the cables heading into the darkness behind me were any sort of indication, allowed the controller to manipulate my body. Though over my hands, covering my fingers, was more intricate machinery. Unless I missed my guess, which was possible as the random bursts of variable strength shocks were making it hard to think straight, those would allow the controller to force my hands open and closed. The other thing that stood out was that, bar a pair of undergarments to cover my modesty, I was naked.

A surge of anger grew as I realised that apart from my clothing and gear, someone had removed my necklace. However as angry as I became, the static shocks around my head only grew stronger, seemingly delighting in my anger and feeding from it.

“Aargh!” I grunted out as this mask made it hard to even use my fury at my predicament as the cold, sterile air in the room took on a sinister sensation.

Drawing on training from my former life, I took slow, deep breaths while doing my best to ignore the jolts of agony rattling around my skull. It was abundantly clear that I’d been captured and the Bando Gora intended to torture me, which was not a comforting realisation. Back on Earth, I was trained to delay any torture I had to face if captured. Resisting was a fallacy that existed only in the movies as everyone broke eventually. The key was keeping yourself sane and useful enough that your captors didn’t kill or break you before you could be rescued.

Though a cold shiver rippled up my spine as I wondered just what kind of horrors were used for torture in this galaxy. Dooku and Fay had gone over how a Force user might be tortured, but they’d not been overly detailed, for good reason I imagined, thus I was going in all but blind about what fresh, deranged horrors I would have to endure.

As my eyes adjusted to the light, and my mind began to accept the chaotic slashes of torment, I spotted two tables about two-thirds of the way from me to the far wall. On one I saw my belongings, including my cloak, lightsaber and necklace. For a brief moment, I tried to summon them to me with the Force, only for an immense surge of pain to slam into my mind from multiple directions.

I grit my teeth, not wanting to give anyone who could be listening the satisfaction of hearing me cry out in agony, until the pain subsided. It seemed that I’d grown so used to using the Force that I’d tried to use it automatically even when I knew the dangers of doing so. Fucking wonderful.

Putting aside any ideas of escape, at least until I learnt where the kriff I was and how to overcome whatever the shab this mask was doing to screw with my Force and Interface connections, I looked at the other table. That was covered by a tarp, but the vague shapes I could make out of whatever was under the tarp filled me with a growing sense of dread. Some of those…. looked similar to some of the more barbaric torture instruments I’d seen on Earth.

This day was just getting better and better.

An ominous hiss came from my right, and I turned my head to see a door that looked to be about a metre above the floor open. Light flooded into the room, making me wince and as I adjusted to the light, I saw that there was a short flight of stairs down to the floor, on which was a tall, athletic-looking Human female standing on the first step. I closed my eyes as the lights in the room turned on, and when I’d recovered the woman had stepped down into the room, allowing me to get a good look at her.

Her hair was short, spiky and white while her eyes burned yellow with the unmistakable corruption of the Dark Side of the Force, though what drew my attention, and earned a chuckle from the woman, was her body; specifically her clothing. Around her neck, she wore a collar of spikes that, unless the light was playing tricks on me, dug into her throat. Her clothing, such as it was, appeared to be barely more than a leotard made of black leather. Each arm was covered in similar material from her elbows down to her hands. Around her waist, covering the gap between her legs, was a long, probably intentionally tattered skirt that left her thighs exposed and from her knees down, she wore skin-tight black coverings that merged seamlessly into her boots, though what drew my attention the most was her belt, where two curved hilt lightsabers rested.

I bit back a snide comment about her appearance as I took in Komari Vosa in all her corrupted glory, as she sauntered toward me. Her boots made clicking sounds on the cold, metallic floor of my cell as she approached.

One hand reached towards me, and I pulled my head back. A smile came to her face as she stepped closer and reached up to grasp hold of my chin. “I’m glad to see my agents didn’t rough you up too badly when they brought you to me.” she remarked as she turned my head from side to side, almost as if she was trying to examine my face even though I was wearing the strange mask. Her voice was deep, almost purring as she spoke. In another time and place, I might have found it seductive. Instead, it brought the image of a predator playing with its food to my mind. “I must admit,” she continued, “that when I learnt that my former Master had taken a new Padawan, I was furious,” she turned my head, so I had no choice but to look her right in the eyes. “That he could cast me aside so easily drove me to levels of rage I didn’t know I had. Yet, that was the moment that my eyes opened to the power of the Force when one bent it to their will.” Her hand slid down to my neck, letting her fingers touch my skin for the first time. “It also helped me see a way for me to strike back at my former master and a plan developed as I watched you rampage through my forces on Kidriff.” She licked her lips and gave me a sinister, almost deranged smile. “You have such rage, such power, and he wastes it by training you as a Jedi…” she remarked, her hand now sliding over my exposed shoulder and down to my bicep.

I kept my mouth shut—it was hard, a quiver of insults was just begging to be let loose, but my raw nerves were a sharp reminder of my situation. But by the Force, it was hard not to comment on her disturbing actions so far!

Her lips pulled into a grin, an amused tincture to it. There was nothing funny about the current situation but I wasn't about to argue with the asylum escapee.

Her fingers slithered over my arm and traced the scar inflicted by my verd'goten. "I see you've kept scars from a previous battle." She leaned in closer. "How positively unlike a Jedi, but oh so intriguing. I do hope you tell me how you got them one day."

Her grin grew longer and sharper as her fingers danced ever lower. "I sense such strength, such power in you," she whispered, her fingers reaching my waistband. My hand burned as I clenched my fist—my knuckles close to bursting. Vosa pulled back with a soft chuckle.

Even without her touch, I could feel her attention on me, her gaze making my skin crawl as it wandered between my legs. Insane or not, it didn't take a genius to figure out where her head was at. “I’ve watched your fight with my forces several times since your capture.” She paused as her tongue ran over her lips. “Such carnage, such barely restrained aggression,” she inhaled, long and deep, “it was intoxicating.” Her smile slipped as her eyes locked with mine, her face turned stern as if she were scolding a child. “Now, don’t be confused. I am unhappy that you killed so many of my followers, especially several of my most loyal fighters. For that, you will be punished. But the way you killed them gave me new ideas about what to do with you, which is why you are here, in this lovely location.” She chuckled at her joke, though it was hard to ignore the deranged crackle that lingered in her laugh.

I let some of the tension in my body ease as she took another step back. “While your fight on Kidriff was impressive, I’m afraid to say those with you aren’t as fortunate to be under my tender mercy. It’s such a shame that for all your power, for all the desire, you were unable to help them.”

“What did you do?” I managed to snarl out, my worry for Bo and Aayla mixing with my anger toward Vosa’s behaviour pushing me to ask.

“The Twi’lek fell easily, overwhelmed by the most basic of my followers. The Mandalorian at least fought as her people do; though in the end, it wasn’t enough.” She chuckled to herself. “Before she succumbed to her injuries, my followers enjoyed… repaying her for the deaths of their cohorts.” My anger flared, and new, powerful bursts of pain surged into my mind from the mask, though this time it seemed as if that only fueled my rage further.

Vosa chuckled and shook her head. “Why are you angry with me? I wasn’t the one who had you attack one of my bases, nor allowed Padawans, children at that, to be separated from the proper Jedi while in a place steeped in the Dark Side of the Force.” She stepped closer, her face twisting from her anger. “That was your Master!” She viciously snapped, her anger for Dooku akin to a bonfire. Was Dooku aware of this? Was he even prepared? Oh, this wasn't going to be good, not at all.

She paused and blinked, almost as if she were surprised with the venom in her own voice. She muttered something to herself that I didn't catch, turned on her heel, and stalked away. My eyes wandered to the sway of her hips. She snickered but didn't comment.

She stopped once she reached the table on which my belongings were displayed, her fingers grazing over the armour I’d been wearing during the battle on Kidriff. “I must say, I never expected him to allow a Padawan to wear armour, especially not that of a Mandalorian,” she remarked as her fingers brushed over my gauntlets. For a moment, I had a faint hope she’d accidentally activate something on them, but it didn’t happen. “I assume this was to hide your true nature; make it seem that your master was nothing more than a noble slumming it with guards and a slave girl. Smart, but given that I was laying out the trap for him for months in advance, ultimately pointless.” Her smile returned, taking on that sensual look that would be enticing if she wasn’t drunk on her own madness. “While I’m… unhappy that he evaded my trap, I think you’ll be a far more useful prize.”

Her hand closed around the sheath of my beskad, and her smile twisted, exposing some teeth. She pulled the blade from the sheath and held it up to the light. “Hmm, actual beskar like the gauntlets. Most unexpected,” she remarked before running her tongue down the edge of the blade while maintaining eye contact with me. I saw a faint smear of red as she pulled her tongue back, but that only seemed to bring a dangerous smile to her eyes. “The violence you unleashed with this blade was… stimulating.”

I bit my tongue. I wanted to comment on her insanity, but the logical part of my mind just barely won out, and I didn’t. That she enjoyed the chaos I’d unleashed on Kidriff spoke to her lack of sanity and I knew that antagonising her would only make what was to come so, so much worse. Yet, a part of me that I didn’t wish to acknowledge right now, did enjoy the battle. How the Force had all but sung to me as I killed my enemy had been intoxicating, which was a real hint of the dangers the Dark Side possessed to some who ended up in battle as much as I did. And, in a brief moment of clarity before the shocks returned, gave me an insight into how the Jedi never saw the betrayal of their troopers coming, or at least part of a reason as to why.

“Once your training is complete, we’re going to have so much fun…” she commented with a giggle that sent a shiver through me. Not only was she deranged and drunk on the Dark Side, but it was becoming increasingly clear that she had more planned for me than simply breaking me to torment Dooku.

She re-sheathed my beskad, then let her fingers graze over my cloak, then onto my lightsaber. “Hmm, a curved hilt. I see your master’s style of combat has rubbed off on you,” she stated, as she powered up the blade. “And a blade soaked in darkness that roars for blood as it ignites, how delightful.” She depowered it and then placed the hilt back on the table. “Can you not see you’re deluding yourself by pretending to be a Jedi? You are meant for more than confining yourself to their irrational ways.”

‘Says the psychotic, deranged, off her Force-damned meds’, I thought. My control was slipping, it was taking a real effort to keep myself from mouthing off like an idiot. However, that slipped as her fingers moved towards my necklace.

I didn’t even realize I snarled until her eyes snapped to me, having heard it, and her smile twisted sinisterly. “Does this have some special meaning, hmm? Perhaps a gift from the Mandalorian?” She inquired, trying to needle me with her false narrative about Bo’s fate, which I didn’t accept for even one moment. I had to hold onto the hope they’d made it out of the base.

Her eyes closed and she inhaled deeply. “Ah, a gift from your master.” Her eyes opened and returned to me. “No doubt for your thirteenth.” She lifted the necklace, using her other hand to caress the heart of the fire gem at its centre. “His presence flows strongly through this, along with another.” She tilted her head. “Your mother perhaps?” I didn’t reply, not wanting her to have another avenue with which to torment me, and she waved her free hand dismissively. “No matter. Neither of them can help you now.”

She started to move, keeping the necklace in her hands until she was at the edge of the table nearest the door. “I think I’ll keep this safe for you.” she remarked as she slid the necklace over her head. It rested awkwardly around her neck, catching randomly in the strange, self-harming collar she wore, yet it had the desired effect as I felt my rage flare, thunder, at her wearing that and a growl slipped past my lips.

“Are you fucking insane?” I spat at her, my anger overloading my rational mind for a moment. Her smile froze, and I felt a sudden spike in pressure against my chest. I struggled to inhale, as something began crushing my chest. I saw her free hand constricting letting me know she was using the Force against me.

Her other hand picked up my lightsaber, and as I continued to struggle as the Force crushed my chest, she stepped closer with my blade in hand. She lifted that hand to my cheek, letting a few fingertips stroke my cheek as I slowly struggled to not react to her efforts in preventing me from breathing.

Before I even realised it, my head whipped to one side as she struck me across my face with the hilt of my blade. Once more, my anger spiked as she dared to use my weapon against me, though that seemed to amuse her, and as she stepped back, the pressure on my chest suddenly stopped.

I gulped in air, trying to get oxygen back into my blood, even as her eyes twinkled in delight. “That was such an impolite thing to say.” she remarked as I continued to gulp down air. The fingers of her hilt-holding hand returned to my cheek, and I barely suppressed a flinch. Yet, instead of striking me, she brushed the area she’d just hit gently, almost as if she was ashamed that she’d had to hurt me. “I hope you’ll refrain from such words. I am a lady after all.” Her fingers slid over my lips, almost teasing them to open as her smile turned in a way that, in any other situation, would’ve been arousing. “Though I am curious to learn more about that word you used. ‘Fucking.’ It sounds like something we could both enjoy.”

For a moment I considered headbutting her, but with the pain in my chest still lingering, I resisted the urge. Further enraging the mad woman with a lightsaber against my face was not a smart move if I wished to keep living.

She removed her hand and once more, stepped back. Having some distance between us was reassuring, even if she didn’t need to worry about striking me down from afar. So long as I was cut off from the Force, unarmed and restrained, it would only take her the briefest of efforts to end me.

“I know you are confused about the truth, but in time you will understand.” she commented as she ignited my lightsaber once more. That had me relieved that I’d still not managed to attune the Mantle of the Force to me – attuning anything that was attuned to others was insanely hard to do even when the crystal was resisting my efforts to attune it – nor did it improve my Mechanics: Lightsaber skill to the point where I could add a fourth crystal to the hilt. Having this bitch with access to that would be beyond dangerous so it was a relief that with my Inventory cut off along with the rest of the Interface, nothing inside could be accessed by anyone.

She lifted the blade, showering our faces in the dark light with a bright core of my blade. Somehow that made her look even more unhinged, which was an impressive feat since she was clearly several components short of a hyperdrive.

“A blade of this colour is not the mark of a Jedi.” she commented, seemingly entranced by the strange way the black edging and white core reacted to each other. “No, this is a weapon of one free of their shackles, of one who yearns for combat. I can feel it and I know you can too.” she added as her eyes found mine once again.

However, before she could say anything, the door to my cell hissed open, which drew our attention. Three men entered, though calling them that felt wrong. All three had blackened, deformed skin with the lead being wearing a skull mask akin to those of the men I’d killed just before I’d been captured. The two without masks stopped at the table displaying my belongings while the masked man continued to the carp-covered table.

The two unmasked men began collecting my belongings, though one of them dropped one of my vambraces. It bounced off the table and then fell to the floor. Thankfully, or un-thankfully I supposed, none of the built-in features activated; though since none were lethal, I doubted any would’ve helped me even if they had activated accidentally.

Quicker than I could follow, Vosa covered the distance between her and the cultist who’d dropped my vambrace. A black blur sped at her, followed by the man’s body slumping to the ground as his head was removed from his shoulders.

“Do not damage his equipment!” Vosa snarled at the remaining cultists. Those ones stood their ground, either not scared of her outburst (unlikely) or trained not to react (probable). “Yes, priestess,” he intoned in a voice devoid of any feeling, making him sound like nothing more than a droid wearing the flesh of a man. The hope of turning a cultist to my side abruptly died in my chest, and was just as sharply replaced by the worry of what was going to happen if I didn't break out soon.

Vosa turned back to me, her face softer than I’d seen so far. She walked forwards and used her free hand to turn my chin so that we were looking into each other’s eyes. “I’m sorry for disrespecting your possessions.” Her voice which had been smoldering and dusky eariler, was just as soft, barely above a whisper, “While the process to ensure their loyalty is effective, it does leave them as not much more than mindless drones.” She leaned closer, and while I tried to pull my head back, her grip was far too tight to allow me to escape. Her lips pressed against mine, sending all sorts of fucked up signals about her to my brain. “I know that won’t happen to you,” she commented after pulling back, that same soft, almost caring smile on her face. “Your mind is strong, like mine. The power inside you will protect you from the worst, but you need to prepare what I must do for you to be free of the shackles of the Jedi and their delusions.”

I bit back another burst of thoughts about her sanity as I wondered just who I’d pissed off to be left in the hands of such an unhinged woman. Though those thoughts were driven from my mind as I hissed in pain as something burned across my chest.

Vosa’s smile took on a sinister twist as she lifted my lightsaber between our faces. “However,” her was voice back to its predatory purr, “you need to understand that disobedience and disruption to my cause will not be tolerated.”

Thankfully, she didn’t strike me again with my blade, instead pivoting and walking over to the tarped table and the masked man. I glared at her, wanting nothing more than to break free of my restraints, take my blade and make her pay for burning me with it. This bitch was beyond insane and needed to be put down.

“Do what you must,” Vosa said loud enough that I could hear, “but I want his mind and body as intact as possible, and do not touch the mask.” She explained to the masked man. “Even after several sessions, if you do, he will kill you without thought.”

“Yes, priestess,” the masked man replied with a small bow as I found myself agreeing with her assessment of what I’d do with the mask removed.

Vosa turned back to face me, her smile twitching as she caught my glare at the masked man. “Do not fear what is to come. It will be painful, incredibly so. But it is needed to free your mind, as mine was, from the lies that were forced into it by the Jedi.”

She sauntered towards the door. Another cultist scurried out of her way as they entered to either collect my things or to take out the body. I imagined making her head burst, making it break, making it cave in, making it do any number of things once I got out these motherfucking shackles off me. I glared at the back of her head plotting out ways in which I’d make her pay for this once I got free of these motherfucking shackles.

A dramatic lifting of the tarp drew my attention back to the masked man, and I gulped hard as I saw what had been revealed on that table. While many of the… instruments were foreign to me, enough looked familiar to things I’d seen in my former life, that I was left in little doubt of what I was about to endure.

As the masked man picked up a disturbing knife with a strange, hooked end to the blade, I reviewed everything I knew about resisting and delaying torture. Silently, I prayed to the Force that Dooku, Bo, Fay or anyone would find me before I broke.

I muffled a sigh of relief as the man lowered the knife back carefully to the table, only to inhale sharply as he picked up a hypo-syringe.

This… was going to fucking hurt.

… …

----------------------------------------

… …

Dooku felt the tiredness of the last week combined with his age weigh on him as he sunk into the chair in his room on the Ne’tra Sartr. Normally, he would’ve sat with a touch more grace and refinement, but after the week he’d had, it was just about understandable that while alone, he allowed some of his standards to slip.

It had been a week since the debacle on Kidriff, and since the capture – he knew Cameron was still alive as he could still sense him within the Force, though it was hard to do so – he had struggled to sleep. Meditation had offered some relief, but after five days without any true rest, he could feel himself slowly losing some of his control and refinement.

He’d gone over the mission multiple times, both with Knight Vos and by himself, and every time the same result was returned. The moment they’d entered the base, and he’d sensed something off within the Force, he should have aborted. Komari Vosa was not only alive, but he was sure that she was now a member of the Bando Gora and had been the one to ensure he learnt of the operation on Kidriff. To say it was a trap was obvious in hindsight but reviewing how he’d learnt the information each step of the way revealed several dozen errors in judgement he’d made that the Bando Gora and Komari had clearly exploited to arrange their trap. A trap that had resulted in the capture of his current Padawan, and potential successor.

Again, he knew that Cameron was alive, but the faint hints of suffering and rage coming to him through their bond during his meditations had Dooku certain that the Bando Gora were torturing the young man in an attempt to turn him as they’d done to Komari. That was causing Dooku much internal turmoil, though apart from the tuk’ata, he doubted any onboard were aware as he refused to be drawn into open discussions about Cameron.

Vos displayed no particular concern about Cameron’s situation, save for how it was affecting his Padawan, but Dooku had no issues with that. The Kiffar Jedi had limited interaction or connection to Cameron but was, if Dooku tried his best to ignore the unamusing sense of humour the Jedi Knight appeared to possess, refreshingly blunt in his assessment of the many ills of the galaxy and Republic. If not for the current situation, and for him seemingly being loyal to the Order, Dooku would consider recruiting him and his Padawan into the Coalition. Still, while Vos appeared the least concerned about Cameron’s status, from what Dooku knew of the Jedi Knight’s records, it was probable that Vos had suffered the most of those who’d returned to the Ne’tra Sartr as Master Tholme had spoken to him on occasion about Vos’ personal demons and tendencies to resort to violence as a first resort.

Vos’ Padawan had been suffering acute feelings of guilt and inadequacy since Kidriff. She blamed herself for Cameron’s capture, however, Dooku did not. Yes, she had clear failings in her lightsaber style, but Dooku attributed that to the failing of Vos, just as he placed the blame for Cameron’s capture purely on his own shoulders.

Miss Kryze had been, rather predictably, irritable to the point that Dooku had been forced to lock her in her quarters three times after her behaviour became a distraction to him. Up until Kidriff, Dooku had been accepting of the comradery growing between the girl and Cameron, even if he felt the developing emotional attachment was a weakness Cameron did not need. For the last of her lockdowns, Miss Kryze had chosen to stay in Cameron’s quarters, which, in a strange way, made sense to Dooku. The Mandalorian was behaving little better than a beast in heat, so her wanting to spend that time in Cameron’s quarters, and around the tuk’ata – which only ever tolerated the girl in those quarters – was a clear indication of her attachment to his Padawan.

The tuk’ata had been the one who’d taken Cameron’s capture the worst; or at least, was the most vocal about it. For three nights it had whined away in Cameron’s room and refused to leave until Miss Kryze had all but dragged the beast – which was now about a third the size of a fully-growth Kath hound – from the room so she could clean it. Since then, Miss Kryze had spent her nights in Cameron’s quarters for which Dooku was grateful as it ended the beast’s whining. Ideally, the situation with those two wouldn’t grow worse, otherwise, Dooku would be forced to take more drastic action to keep them in line. Though once Cameron was rescued, Dooku would need to speak with him about this attachment he was developing with the girl. Hopefully, that would be soon, as the longer it took them to locate and free Cameron, the worse the moods of everyone onboard, himself included, would get.

The console in front of him beeped, and Dooku steeled himself for the conversation to come. A moment of resignation occurred before he opened the commlink, which resulted in a small hologram of Master Fay appearing.

“Dooku,” Fay said simply. That she kept to his wishes and stuck to his family name was encouraging – she was not worthy of using his given name even like this, not that he was particularly fond of it – the lack of customary warmth in her tone, replaced by a faint hint of disappointment, made clear her opinions on what had happened.

“Master Fay,” he replied, using her title as a sign of respect; one she hadn’t used with him, “I assume it is safe to say you received my message.” He respected the Sephi Jedi, yet over the last few years he had come to realise that, even if she was less blinded to the failings of the Jedi and Republic than Yoda, she still placed too much faith in the Code and was just as stuck in her ways as the Grandmaster. Thankfully, it appeared that Cameron was not only beginning to see this failing in Fay but was also understanding that the Republic wasn’t just corrupt, but potentially beyond saving.

“Yes, though I will refrain from commenting on how my warnings were accurate,” Fay responded, and Dooku was barely able to keep his annoyance in check. She had warned of the dangers of going after the Bando Gora, but she had also chosen to not participate in this operation and had even tried to persuade Cameron to leave with her. In hindsight, she had been proven correct about her fears, but to partially reference that decision was, in his mind, a petty manoeuvre for a Jedi Master as esteemed and educated as her to make. “Has there been any progress on locating where Cameron has been taken?”

Dooku delayed his reply while he let the building irritation at her comment and tone settle. “Very little. The records Knight Vos and I were able to procure from the base before we withdrew are encrypted. While Cameron’s droid is attempting to slice said encryption, I am not expecting a quick result as it is not a task suited for protocol droids.”

“Understandable. That droid is millennia out of date,” Fay remarked which made Dooku mentally sneer at the elder Jedi. Either she was far better at hiding what she knew, or she truly did not realise what that droid actually was. Any half-way intelligent being would have perused the Archives regarding Revan for references to droids. From that, it was easy for anyone – something he knew as he’d done so as soon as he was able to establish a secure remote connection to them – to discover that the only droid linked to the former Jedi and Sith matched the one found in the vault on planet Ordo was an assassin droid.

Now, Dooku would concede that there was a chance that Fay was aware of the droid’s true purpose and simply did not wish to discuss it over an open channel. However, Dooku felt that was unlikely. Fay was far too rigid in her interpretation of the Code to allow any member of the Order to own a droid with the reputation of HK-47, and certainly not her own Padawan and one they both believed had an important role to play in the coming darkness. Dooku was slightly conflicted regarding the droid himself. He saw nothing wrong with Cameron making use of the droid to learn more about Revan – something Dooku would admit to being curious about as well – but he hoped his Padawan didn’t begin to use the droid as a crutch, or for its designated purpose. At least while it was so heavily connected to him.

“Indeed. Though given the familial connection Cameron shares with its creator, I suspect it will devote all the processing power it possesses until the encryption has been sliced.” Dooku agreed, which drew a slight raising of one brow from Fay. “Yes, I am aware my… opinion of droids is well known. That said, this droid has a strong sense of programmed loyalty to Revan, and thus Cameron, which makes its existence slightly more tolerable than most droids.” Again, he left out what he knew about the true purpose of HK-47. If Fay either didn’t know or wouldn’t bring it up, he certainly wouldn’t.

“Yes, that is certainly true, however, I will place my faith in the Force,” Fay responded and Dooku felt his lips begin to curl in disgust. Returning to the Temple and all but begging for help from the very Order that showed no care that Komari had been captured years ago offended Dooku’s sensibilities. “I understand your concerns, regarding the direction the Order has taken over the last few centuries. However, our best chance of recovering Cameron may well lie in support from the Archives and Senate records concerning the Bando Gora. Once we have located their main base, which I believe we both suspect is where they’ve taken Cameron, I have no doubt the High Council will authorise a strike team to help us secure Cameron’s freedom.”

Dooku’s knuckles tightened. He’d already searched the Archives and Senate records – along with various sources he knew of – for information regarding the Bando Gora while Cameron had been studying on Mandalore. Some he had acted on, others he had dismissed as nothing more than a rumour but all of it was stored on a datapad that was within easy reach of him at this very moment. For Fay to suggest that either he hadn’t already searched those records, or that his searches had been imprecise was… degrading. As for asking the High Council for help: well, that was a fool’s wager in his mind. While not all of the Council were distrustful of Cameron, he knew there were enough dissenters to cause the Council to hide behind their vaunted ‘trust in the Will of the Force’ to avoid taking up responsibility for a member of the Order. Which was precisely why Dooku had rejected the idea each time he’d weighed it in his thoughts.

“While I am… doubtful of either of those avenues of pursuit bringing success, ignoring potential leads or support would be foolhardy,” he slowly replied as he realised his silence from processing Fay’s apparent disrespect had stretched a moment too long. Though he would never comment on it directly. “While you do that, I, along with Knight Vos and the others will continue to search for more… local clues as to where my former Padawan has taken my current one.” He added, intentionally referring to Cameron as his asset and not one he – possibly regretted – sharing with Fay.

Yet, as he thought of Cameron as an asset, Dooku wondered if that was an accurate description of how to regard the young man. It was becoming clearer to him that Cameron’s role in his thinking was shifting. He was certainly not a threat to him, Dooku was sure of that, but he was becoming something more than an asset for Dooku to use to further his plans.

While Cameron still had years of learning and training to go, Dooku was coming to regard the young man as his masterpiece; even potentially, his heir. In just six years Cameron had turned from a powerful but ill-disciplined boy into a focused and driven young man who was worth more to Dooku than almost any other asset. One that, if he was forced to, Dooku could see himself sacrificing himself for if it meant the continuation of their work. Now, there were a few others that Dooku would consider doing that for, but none had become such an important resource as quickly as Cameron had. Nor did any other hold the true potential to become his successor when time finally caught up to Dooku; though that wouldn’t be for decades yet if he had his way.

Once, Dooku had felt Qui-Gon could be that successor. However, his former Padawan had fallen from the path Dooku had set out for him. Now, Dooku wasn’t unhappy about this as not only were such things beneath him, but he understood that few had the drive and conviction to do what was needed. That being said, Qui-Gon was one of those rare assets that Dooku would consider giving his life to protect, though only in the direst of circumstances.

Yet with Cameron, Dooku felt he wouldn’t fall from the path, nor shy away from doing what he must, though at present Dooku expected Cameron would hesitate, perhaps for too long, before taking the correct course of action when presented with the opportunity. With more time, Dooku felt he could remove that flaw and have, for the first time, one he would consider worthy of his mantle should the Force decide his time had come before he was ready. Yet, when the day came that Dooku felt Cameron was ready to succeed him, Dooku would be at a loss as the young man would no longer be an asset, but something Dooku had never dealt with before.

“There is logic in that,” Fay commented, forcing Dooku to refocus on his fellow Jedi Master. “However, before I return to Coruscant, I wish to hear from you regarding how the mission went.”

Dooku’s irritation towards his fellow Jedi grew. “Did you not read the extremely concise report I sent you?” He asked, that irritation seeping into his tone.

Fay gave him that smile of hers that suggested she either knew something another didn’t, or she found the one she was speaking to beneath her but was unwilling to simply dismiss them as Dooku would and he found it extremely vexing. While he respected her for what she had accomplished over her long career with the Order, he was not some simple-minded being, nor an untrained Padawan. He was of the noble house of Dooku of Serenno, a highly revered Jedi Master and someone so far above the rabble of the galaxy that most should feel honoured to simply be in his presence. Unlike Fay, he did not, and would not, slum it to help that same rabble; that was the work of those with a lower purpose in life, not one chosen by the Force to stand above others.

“I did, but I find discussing a problem often helps to highlight mistakes that can be missed by written reports. Plus, it will allow me to prepare for any counterargument the Council might bring up against providing us support for rescuing Cameron.”

That statement left Dooku conflicted. Logically, her reasoning was sound, and he would not deny that an outside perspective could, sometimes, offer insight that was otherwise missed. However, he doubted she would or could offer any suggestions regarding the mission that he had not already discovered. On the other hand, he was of the strong opinion that the High Council would provide no support. Some members, including Master Windu, had reservations about Cameron being trained as a Jedi, and if they had sensed the moments before he was captured where Cameron embraced the Dark Side, Dooku was left with no doubt they would use that to prove their point that Cameron was undeniably destined to fall to the Dark Side like his ancestor (a fallacy that showed to Dooku just how much fear ruled the High Council even if they would never admit it) and consider him a lost cause.

That sort of thinking, and the Council’s unwillingness even when they knew better – led by Yoda’s flagrant and contemptible inability to act on the decadent rot of corruption that festered at the Republic’s core – to stray from their narrow-minded approach to their views, was what was convincing Dooku more and more that, to enact the changes he felt were needed for the galaxy, he would need to leave the narrow minded Jedi Orders restraints behind. However, he was unwilling to do that until Cameron had passed his trials and reached the rank of Knight; even if Dooku had to knight the young man himself without the permission of the Council.

Now, there were a few small areas where he still agreed with the High Council, such as restricting certain abilities that the Sith were known to have employed, though he felt study should be allowed; but for him, that list was far, far shorter than the Council’s and Dooku felt those abilities could be employed safely by a master such as himself.

“Very well,” he reluctantly acquiesced, “however, I will maintain my belief that seeking the Council’s aid is an exercise in futility and patience unworthy of my time until convinced otherwise.”

Fay’s smile grew, which only increased Dooku’s irritation. “Thankfully, patience is one of my stronger attributes,” she remarked, which was something Dooku would not deny. The Sephi Jedi had a seemingly insurmountable source of patience that surpassed any being Dooku had ever encountered, with perhaps the exception of Grandmaster Yoda, though that patience was one of the reasons he felt she was as blind to many of the failings of the Order as Yoda.

“Where should we begin?” He asked slowly, drawing on his own strained reservoirs of patience.

“I believe from the beginning of how you discovered the base on Kidriff would be the logical choice,” she replied. Dooku hammered down a sense of being spoken to like an Initiate and, agreeing with her suggestion, began to recount every lead that had led to the debacle on Kidriff.

… …

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… …

With a grunt, Aayla blocked the blade thrusting towards her face with her lightsaber. The blade, while not being her beskad, was still able to hold up against a lightsaber on low power, and its wielder pushed forward.

Aayla’s blade moved back towards her, and she shifted her stance, trying to guide the blade away from her. However, her opponent was ready for this and used their blade to guide the lightsaber away from Aayla. That left her open to a stiff elbow to the jaw.

Aayla stumbled back, bringing one hand up to her face while the other unsteadily tried to keep her lightsaber in place to defend.

“Do better,” Bo-Katan said as she kept up her attack. Aayla twisted her arm, bringing her blade around to defend against a low strike from Bo’s sword. A flick of Bo-Katan’s wrist shifted things so that she could use her weapon to force Aayla’s lightsaber down, and with the Twi’lek now exposed, Bo-Katan fired off a blast from her free vambrace.

“Ah!” Aayla was knocked back, her grip on her lightsaber failing and it clattered to the ground moments before she did. Before she could recover, the sword was at her throat close enough that she could feel the coldness of the metal on her skin.

“You’re dead. Again.”

The simple statement from Bo-Katan infuriated Aayla and she slapped the floor hard with her hand.

“Not good enough!” She slapped it again. ”Never good enough!”

Her eyes closed and her mind, as it had been doing for the last two and a bit weeks, focused on how badly she’d let everyone down. Because of her failings, her weakness, Cam had been captured by a Dark Side cult when they’d entered that kriffing place on Kidriff. While she knew he wasn’t dead, it was her fault he was in their hands; that her failings as a Jedi had cost Cam his freedom.

“Then get better. Preferably before we next go into battle.”

Aayla looked at Bo, seeing the Mandalorian standing over her. She couldn’t see the Human’s face since Bo-Katan was wearing her helmet – as she’d done every time when not in her or Cam’s quarters since his capture – but the irritation and annoyance radiating from the other girl left Aayla in little doubt that Bo-Katan felt the same as her that everything that had gone wrong was her fault.

There was a moment where Aayla felt the growing anger within and considered using it to lash out at the Mandalorian. To give into the whispers of her darker emotions and strike her down. Yet even as she felt the Force shift in anticipation of her doing so, she rejected that desire. It wasn’t the Jedi way.

“Emotion, yet peace.” Her eyes closed once more as she recited the older form of the Code Serra had taught to her and the others in Dragon Clan; the one Cam had revealed to Serra back when they’d all just been Initiates. “Ignorance, yet knowledge.”

“Di’kute Jetii.” Aayla ignored Bo-Katan’s remark, keeping her focus on calming her emotions and regaining control over them. She let her stronger emotions slide away into the Force, letting it take her burdens from her. Once she felt more centred, she chose to respond to the Mandalorian’s remark.

“We’re not stupid. We just choose to control our emotions and not let them get the better of us.”

There was a pause as the armoured helmet of Bo-Katan stared down at her which ended when the Mandalorian shook her head.

“Still stupid,” Bo-Katan commented as she walked to the far side of the small training room on the Ne’tra Sartr. “Much like your fighting.”

“Says the battle-mad Mandalorian!” Aayla blinked, wondering where that burst of anger had come. “S-sorry.” She added as she began to stand.

“Don’t be sorry, be better.” Was Bo-Katan’s retort as she reached the far side of the room and then turned back to face the Twi’lek. “Right now, you’re useless.”

“Like on Kidriff.” The words slipped from Aayla’s lips before she even realised it and she felt another wave of regret for all the things she had done, and those she hadn’t, wash over her.

“For the love…” Aayla looked at the Mandalorian who shook her head once before continuing. “Yes, you got injured on the mission, and because of that and other events – most of which were outside your control – we lost Cam.” Aayla closed her eyes at hearing Bo-Katan blaming her as she fought to keep down another larger wave of self-doubt and pity from washing over her. Master Vos had told her to let go of her feelings on the matter and move on, but it was so hard to do. “That means you’ve got two choices. Get better for when we find him or keep dragging your feet around this ship and stay useless.”

“It’s my fault he’s gone.” The words slipped from her mouth freely.

A wave of anger radiated from the Human. “He’s not gone! He’s just captured, and we’ll get him back!” The emotion in Bo-Katan’s tone slipped through the vocal modulator in her helmet with ease. For not the first time since joining the crew of the Ne’tra Sartr, Aayla wondered if there was more going on between the Mandalorian and Cam than either was willing to admit. “Now get up and help with that or get the shab out of my way!”

Aayla’s eyes narrowed at the challenge and, after slapping down the urge to crawl into a hole, she dragged herself to her feet, summoning her lightsaber to her hand. Determination to prove to herself that she wasn’t the weak and useless thing the Mandalorian thought she was surged through her, as did a tremor of annoyance that she wasn’t as close to Cam as Bo-Katan was. He was her friend first, Force-dammit!

A grunt from Bo-Katan was the only response the Human gave before she surged forward. Aayla leaned to one side, avoiding a blaster bolt aimed at her head, then rushed forward to meet the Human.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

That voice in her mind that agreed with the Mandalorian was still there, but Aayla was determined to prove them both wrong. She might not be strong enough now, but she would be one day.

… …

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… …

Something brushed against the fingers on my left hand, but my mind was focused on the pain flooding into it from my lower back. There, the horned man was removing yet another section of my skin from my body as slowly as he could.

I crushed my eyes closed and ground my teeth together, trying desperately to not let even a whimper escape and grant him some satisfaction that his deranged efforts were working. Thanks to the injection I was given before every one of these sessions I’d endured that heightened my senses as if the Force was empowering me, I could feel every millimetre of movement of the blade across my skin, though I said a silent prayer of thanks that he was, for now, focusing on my back where there were far fewer nerves than other places on my body.

The blade pulled back, granting me a momentary respite, though I knew what was to come was going to be even worse. The seconds ticked by as this bastard likely savoured in making my terror at what he was about to do grow. I steeled myself as best I could, praying that, for the first time in over three dozen sessions, he wouldn’t do anything to the loose flap of skin that was dangling from my body.

A sharp, incredible surge of pain shot through me as he pulled at the flap of skin, ripping it from my body. I groaned as the white-hot pain overwhelmed my other senses, and felt my teeth slip away from each other. Still, I managed to once more not give in, not let a wail of anguish slide from my lips. Though it was getting harder and harder to maintain my control.

My head drooped as the burst of anguish ended, only to be lifted as the motherfucker responsible for my suffering used one hand to show me the section of my body that he’d removed.

“Yes, we’re almost there. I can see it in your eyes. You’re almost ready to begin the next stage of your healing.”

A desire to rip him limb from limb with the Force bounced around my head impotently as with this damn mask - and whatever else was involved - blocking my connection to both the Force and the Interface, I could do nothing to him. Insults flooded through my mind, demanding to be let out at this bastard, but none escaped my mouth. At first, words had, but he seemed to revel in the curses I sent his way, in every language I knew from both my lives. As such, I’d stopped responding, stopped giving him the satisfaction. Yet I knew that now, even if I wanted to, I couldn't. The ache that constantly ebbed and flowed around my skull had drained me of a will to retort, though not yet of my desire to resist.

“Soon, very soon now, you will see the light. Just as countless others have done under my care.”

As he walked back towards his table of horrors, I felt the tension in my body slip and slumped in my restraints. Time in here had no meaning with no clocks to focus on, no Interface to use, or a rhythm to when my torturer came or how long he stayed. All I knew is the number of sessions was closing in on forty.

With the Interface down, I couldn’t get to my Inventory to escape. Though even considering that drew another burst of pain from the mask I was wearing; the timing, location, strength, and duration of each burst was impossible to predict. Yet I knew it was still working as, for as much as I chose not to focus on them, I remembered every single moment of my torture, and how unlike anything I was prepared for it was.

Training in my former life to slowly provide non-essential information to survive until rescue was utterly useless here. There was no interrogation, no question from my tormenter. Just the pain of every single thing he did to make me suffer.

The strip of skin he’d torn from my back, having dripped a trail of blood as he walked that mingled with the hundreds of previous trials, was tossed into a bin near the table. A bin that, as far as I knew, hadn’t been emptied since these sessions had begun. Once the smell had made me dry heave, but after however long I’d been here, I’d simply moved beyond it. There were far, far worse things to try not to focus on.

With careful consideration, the masked man returned the knife he’d been using on me to its place on the table. A gentle touch making sure it was aligned correctly. That this bastard was meticulous was, along with him being fucking insane, was one of the few things I’d learnt during the sessions.

My breath caught in my throat as his fingers danced over a wickedly curved device. Unsummoned memories flashed across my mind as every instance he’d used danced through my thoughts. I sighed in relief as his fingers kept moving only for me to go rigidly still as his fingers brushed another instrument.

That thing… my mind froze as the memories of feeling that thing being used against me overwhelmed my brain. Feelings of the incredible, indescribable pain that device had brought returned to my body. I felt myself shiver as his eyes met mine.

A malevolent smile twisted into existence behind his mask. “Yes, this is the one.” His grip closed on the instrument and as he started to move, I began to struggle. My fists clenched so tightly that I could feel my nails drawing blood as my feet thrashed around, preventing anyone from predicting their location. Yet I knew it was all in vain. Without access to the Force or the Interface, I couldn’t break free of the restraints and was forced to flail around feebly.

He approached, that deranged, disturbed visage on his face making the mask look like a demon from the darkest depths of hell somehow growing more sinister with each step.

“Still you resist.” The words slid from his mouth, as he lifted the device up, letting the light bounce off it, displaying it for me in all its terrifying glory. “Impressive, but in the end pointless.” His free hand tapped against a small vambrace he wore.

The cuffs over my wrists and fingers whirred horribly into life and I felt my hand being prised open. I fought against it with all my might, yet without the Force, I knew I couldn’t stop it. These had been activated after the second session. I’d closed my fists so tightly that even him cutting them so profusely that they turned scarlet hadn’t resulted in me opening them. Every time he came close to me with that thing, I fought to keep my hands closed, and every time I failed.

My arms were manipulated by the machine holding me in place, forcing my dominant left hand down. He moved this tool closer to my hand. I braced for what was to come. My eyes followed morbidly as his tool crept closer, moving towards the underside of my nail. I tried to control my breathing and pulse, as I knew that just made things seem to slow down, but with memories of every other time I’d experienced this flying around my brain, time still seemed to slow down, dragging out the rapidly surging terror inside me.

A faint hiss as something was pressed against my other arm had my head snap around. His free hand was pulling back, a hypo-syringe in it.

I hissed as the lights in the room became too bright and closed my eyes. I could hear his breathing as it slid past his teeth, the rapid beat of his heart as he stood close to me and the faint sounds of the various machines in the room. All things that a moment before I couldn’t detect.

I inhaled sharply as a tingle shot up that arm. He’d blown gently on it, yet it had felt as if it’d suddenly been exposed to an arctic blast. My eyes widened as I realised, he’d give me another shot of whatever the fuck was heightening my senses. I opened my mouth to swear at him.

Which was when I felt the device in his hand surge forward, forcing my nail away from my finger violently.

I couldn’t control myself as a scream escaped from my lips and my mind shut down.

… …

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… …

I awoke to a relaxing tingle from my arm and smelt the familiar scent of bacta. As I groaned, a hand touched my mask, stroking from my ear to chin. I leaned into the touch, savouring any comfort after another session in this hellhole.

“It’s alright, he’s stopped for now.” The voice was soft and gentle. I blinked to clear another pain-induced blackout and recover my bearings, then remembered where I was and saw who was comforting me.

Vosa’s voice was so at odds with the fact she was the one responsible for my being tortured, yet it made perfect sense. She wanted to break me, to have me suffer Stockholm Syndrome – or whatever it was called in this galaxy – and while I knew that was her goal, a part of me didn’t care; instead finding solace in the small sliver of comfort she offered to me now.

Ever since my first blackout from the torture, which was also the first time I’d given that arsehole the pleasure of hearing me scream, she’d been here when I woke. Thirteen times since when I’d passed out from the pain, times she’d been here. If I didn’t scream, if I didn’t pass out, she wasn’t here, and neither was any bacta provided for my wounds. Or at least never any that I knew about. Plus, if I wanted her to keep applying bacta to my wounds, there was something she wanted from me.

“Thank you.”

The words came out in a voice barely above a whisper and I was annoyed that I offered them so freely, but the relief given by the bacta helped so much they slipped from my lips so easily now that I, even though I knew why she wanted them, I let them come freely.

Vosa gave me a small smile, one that like others when she’d brought me relief, was devoid of the deranged insanity she enjoyed. “I’m sorry you have to go through this,” her hand lifted a small bacta patch and placed it on my side where I’d lost a strip of skin in my most recent session, “but, like I did, you need to see through the lies of the Jedi; to understand the truth of what the Order and the High Council truly want.” I hissed slightly at the cold feeling of the patch touching my skin, a lingering aftereffect of the serum the masked man loved injecting me with. “Their desire to control the fates of others, while showing no care for those they are meant to protect. Their need to deny us the freedoms to live, to choose, to enjoy what we want and experience the pleasure life has to offer.” Her fingers slid from the patch, brushing against my skin for a moment before she pulled them back. “I know you’re starting to feel the same way, you’ve admitted as much to me, but you the veil they’re holding over your eyes hasn’t yet been fully withdrawn.”

She reached down and picked up another patch, yet held it on her lap, unwilling to apply it. I knew what she wanted here, so I held my tongue. Her smile slipped slightly, and one hand came forward, rubbing against another section of my body where my skin had been removed. I hissed loudly as fresh pain mixed with residual torments.

“Please.” The words came out in a strained, wheezing voice, and while I hated myself for giving in so easily, after a dozen sessions where I’d needed the bacta before and sometimes not gotten it, I was willing to bend to her whim. A flash of cold shot through the same section of my body before the patch started to do its job, numbing the nerves in that area and healing the wound.

Vosa’s smile returned to its former comforting level. She reached down beside her stool and picked up a small spray. This was the first time in thirteen visits where I didn't flinch at her lifting the spray, as I’d learnt to trust that she was only trying to help.

The spray sent a gentle blast of pressurized bacta over other wounds from the masked man; ones too small or awkwardly placed to take a bacta patch. The trail of cool, cold relief slid along the underside of my arm, into the armpit then onto my cheek. Blessed relief from the lingering aftereffects of my torture spread through my body as she continued to apply the spray.

I hissed as the cold blast caught my genitals; the masked man having started to inflict pain near them in the last few sessions. When Vosa had first appeared after my torment-induced blackout, I’d been uneasy about being suspended naked near her, yet she’d yet to comment on it. Thank the Force. Still, having her hands so close to that area, even if it was to help numb the pain that constantly afflicted my body, was unsettling.

“I know your mind is conflicted,” she began as she used the spray around my knees. ”What you're enduring will be fuelling your rage; even now I can see it in your eyes. Yet, you need that rage to break free of their lies. To understand the truth that this galaxy, like the Jedi Order, is nothing more than bright lights designed to deceive you. To hide the truth that the true order of life is not civility, but chaos; of carnage as those with the strength to act take what they want, what they desire.” At this the spray reached the end of its journey at my ankles and she dropped it back into the small bag it had come from. Vosa leaned forward, her eyes strangely no longer the sickly yellow one would expect of someone drunk on the Dark Side. For a moment I thought she was going to kiss me even while I was wearing the mask, which left me seriously conflicted, yet her lips moved past my lips and cheeks without stopping as a faint hint of vanilla caught my attention.

“I can see you’re almost there. You are near the moment when your shackles, your chains, will be broken. When you will understand the truth.” Her words ticked my ear as she whispered them to me before pulling back. Her eyes found mine and her lips twitched. “When that moment comes, you’ll truly be free to use your power,” a hand came to rest on my knee, “and we can revel in our shared freedom.”

I stayed quiet, trying to not long for the end of these sessions, even as she reached down into the bag and pulled out a small tube. Slowly, she squeezed out some bacta gel onto her hands and then slid them onto mine. Her fingers drifted around mine as I sighed in relief as the worst pain I’d been enduring slowly eased as the gel slipped under my fingernails; healing the fresh wounds made by the masked man.

As much as I didn’t want to, her soft touch, combined with the relief offered by the gel, had me slide my fingers around hers. Not because I desired the closeness, or at least that’s what I kept telling myself, but because I wanted the gel to reach everywhere; to ease the torment that lingered in my hands.

In the last session, the masked man hadn’t gone after my toes. Nearly six dozen sessions had passed, and each one brought new sources of pain as the masked man showed more and more of his sick depravity so, while he hadn’t yet targeted my groin, I knew it was only a matter of time. And time was something I knew I was running out of. While exact dates were impossible to determine in this room without my Interface working, it felt as though I’d been here for months and still there was no hint of a rescue.

Eventually, the continual torment from my fingers eased and she pulled her fingers back, depriving me once more of physical contact. Our eyes met once again before she turned her attention to her bag. Once she was sure her supplies were back inside, she stood. A gesture had the stool float away to a far corner, removing it as something I might use to escape with.

“I wish you understood already, I truly do. But you don’t.” She shook her head after sighing softly, before heading for the door from my cell.

My eyes were drawn to her retreating figure, particularly the saunter in her steps. As the door hissed open, she stopped and turned back to face me. Her smile had shifted from one of compassion to amusement and, unless my mind was playing tricks on me, desire.

“Once you are ready, you can try to claim what you want.” She left the room after that, my mind falling deeper into thoughts about what I wanted from her.

Eventually, I shook my head, chasing away the images flooding my mind, and I sighed in annoyance. When she’d first started hinting about wanting more than just breaking me, I’d ignored it as a seduction/recruitment technique. Yet, after so many sessions ending with those hints, my mind was starting to indulge my darker fantasies. This was what she wanted, I was sure of it, yet it was growing harder and harder to deny that, at least a part of me, didn’t want the same. To take what I wanted from her and others and bend them to my will. After each session the desire to give in to those impulses and let go, was growing stronger and stronger.

I closed my eyes and retreated inward, trying to find my calm centre. It took time to find, but I did find that small, calm area. As had been the case since the first session, it was getting harder and harder to reach it, which was a hint I was slowly losing my ability to resist the torture, but I sighed in relief at still being able to find it.

Now just to stay there for as long as possible and ignore whatever torment I was placed through. Be it the masked man, random sounds and alternating light levels, immense bursts of electricity surging through my body, or any of the other deranged ways they were trying to break me.

… …

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… …

Gar stepped into the small makeshift armoury that they’d created on the Ne’tra Sartr. The operation would begin in a few hours, and he wanted to go have one final check of his equipment.

The room wasn’t anywhere as fully stocked as it should be for a Mandalorian vessel, but given that Shan travelled with two Jetii Masters – and was technically a Jetii himself – it made some sense. In one corner he saw Kryze’s stored weaponry, and his mind turned to the red-haired female.

He knew that she, like Osto, was unhappy that he’d been placed in charge of this operation by her father, Duke Adonai, but like a good warrior, she didn’t voice that displeasure during any briefings. The confirmation he had on that had come from Rook, who’d spent a fair amount of time with the younger female after they’d boarded this vessel.

The few details Rook had revealed while they relaxed in their quarters – at least when Rook wasn’t dragging him into their bunk to relieve her tension – had resulted in them discussing why Duke Adonai had sent his youngest child with Shan.

It had become widely known that the duke had placed Bo-Katan above Satine in seniority for clan leadership – a decision Gar and Rook both agreed with as the elder Kryze daughter was, in Gar’s eyes, a failure as Mando’ade; she still had yet to complete her verd’goten, instead choosing to follow the way of those hut’uune who called themselves ‘New Mandalorians’ – so it would have made sense to keep her close and train her up for the role. While the duke had an elder son, the man hadn’t been the same since losing his wife and child, something Gar could understand as the few times he’d seen Rook injured in battle he’d struggled to maintain focus on the mission. If he lost her…

Gar shook his head to clear that thought from it and picked up his DH-17 rifle. With practised ease, he placed it on a table and began stripping the weapon one last time before they entered combat.

Returning to his thoughts, his mind considered the words of his mother. Long before the civil war, Nia had been active in providing locations of former Death Watch locations to Dukes Adonai and Torrhen - though as everyone had expected, those bases had been abandoned the moment Nia Vizsla had left the group - but it was her explanation of why Adonai had sent his youngest with Shan that stuck in Gar’s mind.

According to her, Adonai had done this for two reasons. The first was in the hopes that Bo-Katan would learn some understanding of the larger picture of how command outside of small units worked. On this, Gar agreed as while a capable warrior and skilled leader of squads, he’d never heard nor seen any hint that Bo-Katan held the ability to think on a grander scale. Now, Gar knew he wasn’t the greatest that way, preferring to work with platoon-sized units, but he knew enough to be able to at least glimpse the larger picture. Bo-Katan didn’t, and while Gar didn’t know for certain that Shan did, the young man showed more understanding of the political side of command; more so than Gar who despised dealing with clan politics. Give him a battlefield and an enemy to fight and kill every day of the month.

Gar’s mother had offered a second suggestion as to why Adonai had sent his daughter – and all but de facto heir – with Shan; that Adonai hoped that something would develop between his daughter and Shan. Gar had dismissed this loudly, stating that he’d never heard of Bo-Katan showing any interest in men. Nia and Rook had shared a look and a laugh before Rook had said ‘you still have much to learn’. He’d frowned at her words even as she’d explained that while Bo-Katan did prefer females over males, Rook knew Bo wasn’t against entering a relationship with one; just that, like Rook, she had high standards for any potential partner to meet.

Apart from the swell of satisfaction he felt upon hearing that he met Rook’s standards – and vowing to himself to keep meeting them – Gar had taken the words on board, but not given them any further thought until they were summoned by Dukes Adonai and Torrhen and learnt of this mission. Discovering he was to be placed in command ahead of Osto – Torrhen’s heir – and Bo-Katan had been a surprise, but after coming on board the Ne’tra Sartr it had become clear that it was the right call. Ordo was distracted, and rightfully so, by personal matters while Bo-Katan was… unbalanced.

As unit commander, he wanted the matter handled, and Rook had taken it upon herself to do so, proving once more why they worked so well together, inside and out of combat. Gar knew he lacked many of the social niceties required for even a blunt society like theirs, whereas Rook had an ability to intermingle with others that put some diplomats to shame.

From Bo-Katan’s recordings of the battle on Kidriff and her stories of the other battles, it was clear that not only did she hold Shan in high regard as a combatant, but that she felt he was wasted with the Jedi; an opinion that Gar agreed with. Yes, Gar would never forgive Shan for killing his father – even if the man had been difficult to live with, he had still been his father – but he could have died honourably and that was all any true Mandalorian could hope for. The Jetii had given his father a way out but his father had squandered that and died because of it. From that, analysing how Shan behaved while studying on Mandalore, and watching his actions first-hand at the battle of Keldabe, Gar had learnt that Shan would offer a way to avoid combat but would not shy away from what needed to be done if the offer was rejected.

To Gar, this meant Shan was a warrior at heart, unlike most Jetii, and it was only a matter of time until a split between the young man and the Order occurred. If Adonai saw this earlier, then sending his daughter with Shan – ignoring the potential for any personal developments – made logical, and tactical long-term sense. As did his assigning this unit to help in securing Shan’s freedom from the criminal cult that had captured him.

Now, when Gar had first learnt that Shan had been captured, he’d been… disappointed. Shan was a solid warrior, a little too nice around the edges – which Gar blamed on the Jetii – but there was the potential for something great there. However, reviewing Bo-Katan’s recording of the fight on Kidriff had Gar re-evaluating that opinion. The Bando Gora were known as a dangerous cult that sometimes deployed Force users and Shan, from Gar’s interpretation of the recording, believed Shan had led the cultists away to allow Bo-Katan and the Jedi trainee – who should never have been on the mission in the first place, but at least the Twi’lek understood this and had withdrawn from this operation, earning her some small respect from Gar – to escape.

Learning that the Jetii wouldn’t send a team to help free one of their own had infuriated the entire team when Adonai had revealed it. With time to consider that, Adonai sending even a single unit would not only prove to Shan that the Mando’ade had his back – as they should as Clan Shan was allied to Houses Kryze and Ordo – but that the Jetii didn’t. It might not be enough for now, but Gar felt it would only hasten the, in his opinion, inevitable split between Shan and the Jetii.

The sound of the door opening drew Gar’s attention and he saw Rook step inside. Since they were alone, he gave her a smile, which made her face brighten up in ways that always made his heart beat just a little bit faster. A galaxy without her in it was one he didn’t wish to face.

“Great minds think alike I see.”

Gar grunted out a single laugh at her comment. “Yes. Though that isn’t the only thing great about you.”

Rook giggled, and Gar’s pulse quickened further. “And people say you don’t know how to talk to others.” Gar knew that but didn’t care. Outside of his family, the only one that mattered to him was Rook. “What’s on your mind? Besides me, of course.” That was accompanied by a wink that, for a moment, had Gar considering forgetting the final checks on his weaponry and taking Rook back to their quarters.

“The mission.” Rook rolled her eyes even as Gar finished reassembling his rifle. “Specifically, Shan and Kryze.”

Rook grinned in a way that Gar was always glad wasn’t aimed at him; at least when outside their quarters. “Hah! Told you!”

He lifted his rifle and moved to place it back in the rack. “I don’t think there is anything between them, not beyond comradery,” Rook came up alongside and collected her rifle, a DLT-20A in place of her preferred Valken-38x, as he unholstered his backup pistol, “however, I believe my mother’s words have the potential to be accurate.”

Rook shook her head at her lover’s – and, if he’d just take the hints, more – words. He was always concise and to the point, even in the bedroom; well, except when she did that thing. “Hah! I knew I was right!”

Gar didn’t say anything in reply, choosing instead to move over to the table he’d just come from. Rook followed, though took the table next to him and laid her rifle down upon it.

“So you think there’s a chance for them?”

She didn’t need to see Gar to know he’d shrugged at her question. “So long as Shan remains with the Jetii, no. Though I have my doubts about him staying with them.”

“Oh?” Rook had her own opinions on Cameron, but Gar had never been keen to reveal his before, so she’d rather draw those out now and see if she agreed with them.

“Shan is… focused on doing what he thinks is right. As seen in the ijaat’ikaanir. Most Jetii, I think, would’ve simply left instead of choosing an honour duel. That, and how he fought in the battle of Keldabe make it clear he will do what he must. Other Jetii do as the Republic wishes.”

“And if he did leave?” She pulled the lower block from her rifle as she asked the question, exposing the inner workings of the weapon.

“Then the chance exists, though I believe my cousin would also be interested.”

Rook snorted in amusement at that. “Ain’t that the truth.” Naz Vizsla had never been subtle in her opinions, whether that be about the match her father had arranged for her with Kote Wrajud – that match was beyond jare’la, as was the idea of arranged marriages for Mando’ade, but it wasn’t her clan so not her business – or her like of Cameron. Much to that other Jedi’s dislike.

When the pair had arrived on Mandalore, Rook, like Gar and others, had dismissed them as a bad idea by those di’kute in Sundari to try and make inroads into the minds of those who followed the old ways. Later Rook had learnt that wasn’t the case, and like many, she’d come to see the pair as not just worthy adversaries, but fellow Mando’ade. Yet of the two, it had always been Cameron who stood out.

The girl was a fine warrior, even if she had a long way to go, but Cameron was leagues beyond her. Hearing he was a direct descendent of Naast be Me'suums had made her laugh, thinking it was nothing more than a lie to convince others to like him. There was no way anyone born now could claim direct descent from someone who’d lived nearly four thousand years ago. Yet, when she and others had questioned Bo and Naz Vizsla about it, both confirmed the story. That had truly brought Cameron Shan to Gar’s and Rook’s attention.

His actions on Mandalore, leading up to and including the battle of Keldabe, showed he was a warrior at heart, and when he’d finally left the sector, mere days after the outbreak of the latest civil war to engulf her people since the Dral’Han, Rook, just like Gar and many others, was angry that he didn’t stay to fight. While she shared Gar’s anger about not gaining a chance to fight beside him in battle – something made worse by hearing Bo’s retellings of the various skirmishes they’d gotten into over the last year – she was more infuriated that he’d seemingly ran from the fight.

She, along with many others, had seen him technically fight during the battle of Keldabe, but that had been more a case of him arriving to save their arses from the chaos Death Watch had unleashed. At first, Gar had been incensed to miss out on the true fight, but after Rook had worked out her frustrations with him that evening – and the following four – he’d settled down. Still, that annoyance at Cameron leaving was something she saw in her lover, and even now, when he talked about Cameron maybe leaving the Order, she could still hear it in his tone.

Nia Vizsla’s idea that Duke Adonai wanted to match up his youngest – and, unless Rook missed her guess, the future leader of Clan Kryze – with Cameron made perfect sense to her the moment she heard it. Unlike many she knew that Bo wasn’t against the idea of taking a male lover; just that unlike her, Bo had found the choices lacking. Or she had until Cameron had come along.

Now, Rook knew that perhaps nothing would come of it, but even if the friendship that Bo proclaimed was all there was between them was the extent of it, then Rook hoped that would be enough for what she wanted; and what Gar was now admitting he could see. Cameron leaving the Jedi and joining the Mando’ade fully.

One of her earliest dreams had been to see her people reunited under a new Mand’alor; something not seen since the Dral’Han nearly eight hundred years ago. At first, in her infancy, she had thought that leader would be her. Later that hope had transferred to Gar, but she’d come to realise that neither of them had what it took to lead their people. For a while, she wondered if Duke Adonai, or even Pre Vizsla, could pull that off, yet the former was too badly tainted by his association with the – and she could still barely say their name without wanting to find a member of their group and kill them – New Mandalorians while the latter was once more stained by his family’s connection to Death Watch. Thus, she’d transferred her hope onto Cameron.

While she wasn’t the most romantic or nostalgic person, the idea that a direct descendant of Naast be Me'suums, the man who broke the clans over Malachor V, would one day arrive to rebuild them… Yes, it was stupidly poetic – and a touch silly – but the idea rekindled a hope for her people that she’d almost lost during the battle of Keldabe. And if that path was found by Cameron becoming close to Bo, Rook would do all she could to encourage it. Though not without having her fun while doing so.

Honestly, teasing the redhead about how close she’d become to Cameron since they’d come on board was unbelievably easy. Bo became so flustered about the idea that, no matter how much Bo protested they were just, and only would be, friends, Rook was convinced something would happen between them.

The door to the armoury opened, snapping Rook from a plan for how next to needle Bo about her feelings, and in walked the large frame of Osto Ordo. Until this mission Rook hadn’t fought directly beside the heir to Clan Ordo, but the reports she’d seen had him listed as a very capable fighter, if a touch aggressive. Though that was a comment she was sure could be levelled at most Mando’ade.

He gave them a nod in acknowledgement, which they returned, before moving over to where his weaponry was stored. The large Z-6 rotary cannon he used was too heavy for Rook – and frankly didn’t suit her skill set as she preferred to use her scope and take out targets in a more efficient manner – but for the hulking figure Ordo, it was a perfect weapon. As was the beskad he carried as a close-in weapon. While it was closer to what most beskads were than Bo’s - which was closer to a vibrosword in length than a short sword - it was heavier, being something that Rook would need two hands to hold properly, but she’d seen recordings of him using it against members of House Varaud and knew he was skilled in its use.

Silence fell over the room as the trio checked over the weapons. Once Rook was finished, she looked at Gar and licked her lips. They still had a few hours until they entered combat and while her weapons were primed, she had some excess energy to bleed off and knew it helped Gar focus if his needs were sated. Plus, it’s not like she wanted or needed to go over the very limited intel they had on the base they were about to assault. And while there was the chance her having some fun would irritate Bo, Rook wanted that as it might make Bo slip up and reveal things to Cameron once they found him.

Osto watched the doors to the armoury close as Kast led Saxon out. The woman was far less subtle than she thought and Osto was glad that he had his helmet on to block out the sounds the woman would undoubtedly be making in a short time.

To be clear, he had no issue with them fucking, but every time they did, Osto’s mind turned to home and his wife, Bryn. Being dragged away from the war and his pregnant wife by his father had angered him, as did this belief that his parents held about Alor Cameron. Manda, even calling him that felt wrong to Osto as the boy had chosen the Jetii over the Mando’ade, but Clan Shan stood beside Clan Ordo, thus Osto was forced to regard the boy as a chieftain.

Now Bryn wasn’t due for another month, but being taken away from the birth of his first child to help a Jetii wasn’t sitting right with Osto. Even a Jetii descendent of Naast be Me'suums who had, for the first time in nearly four thousand years, opened the vault created by Te Taylir Mand’alor. Of course, the fact Osto’s parents wouldn’t tell him what was in the vault, bar the beskar that they’d used to make full armour for him and Bryn as wedding gifts, also fed into Osto’s dislike of this mission. If Alor Cameron was so impressive, why had he allowed a backwater cult to capture him? And why had he fled from the sector on the eve of the war?

These, to Osto, were not the actions of a clan leader. Yet both his parents and Duke Adonai allowed this, with the head of Clan Kryze sending his youngest child away with the Jetii.

Now perhaps there was something more in the vault of Te Taylir Mand’alor that involved Alor Cameron, but until he knew what it was, Osto didn’t feel the Jetii was worthy of the effort to rescue him. And even if he knew what was in the vault, Osto doubted Alor Cameron was worth the effort. He was just a laandur Jetii.

… …

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… …

Inside a large hollowed-out cavern, members of the Bando Gora cult went about their business. Most had patches of skin that had turned black due to strange rituals used by the cult, with those with their entire bodies turned black wearing the skulls of dead animals as masks. Crates were being moved between various ships in the cavern, ready for their latest shipment of contraband for delivery to their other outposts dotted around the galaxy.

They moved about freely, unconcerned about detection. If any threat came towards their base, the sentries would alert command and they’d rush to engage those foolish enough to attack them. Yet even though no warning had come, a strange, unnatural groan began to emanate from the massive hangar doors. As the groaning grew louder, more and more cultists turned to look at the doors. The masked men started to bark orders, making the few already armed cultists move closer while demanding word from the sentries, sending the rest to arm themselves and to alert the leaders within the base.

The cultists obeyed the commands without question, their minds having been broken to understand that failure to obey meant incredible pain or death, and quickly small teams of cultists formed around anything that would offer cover.

The large metallic rods of the doors that linked them together and kept what was inside safe began to buckle, and a moment later they gave way. The doors were ripped from their hinges, flying inwards.

Chaos reigned as the doors smashed through some hastily arranged defensive positions, sending bodies and supplies flying, with one door embedding itself in a ship with such force that the ship, once it's skidding was stopped by slamming into the ship next to it, all but broke in two. The other door sent sparks flying as it scraped around the cavern’s floor. It sliced through a large tube, spilling the liquid inside on the cavern’s floor. The door continued, generating more chaos before smashing into a large pile of crates near the back of the cavern. The contents of those crates and splinters of others that had exploded as the door struck them, showered the area nearby, leaving several cultists on the ground, unmoving from the shards that had impaled them.

“Turn off that full hose!” one of the few remaining masked men near the door shouted, pointing at the tube and the rapidly growing pool of dark, foul-smelling liquid. “Re-order the de-fuliugk.”

The man’s words ended in a strange sound as he was suddenly pulled back by an unseen force. He slammed into the floor near the entrance of the cavern, bouncing twice, the second with a sickening crack. As he crossed the barrier signalling the entrance to the cavern, a blade of blue ignited and sliced through the man. The various parts of the now-dead man bounced past the blade and its wielder, drawing the attention of every cultist in the hanger as another blade ignited beside the first.

“Was that truly necessary?” Dooku asked as he and Vos walked into the cavern. He didn’t care in the slightest that the cultist was dead, he just felt that dismembering as Vos had was a waste of time and effort.

“No, but it did make a nice statement.” Vos’ reply was accompanied by a smile as he brought his blade up, deflecting the first bolt of blaster fire to come their way back at its sender. “And we want them to concentrate on us, right?”

Dooku sighed, barely moving to avoid one bolt then dismissively flicking his blade to send another bolt away. “While that is true, we do not wish to eliminate the threat too quickly, lest the others are discovered before they achieve their objective.” His words were accompanied by a thundering eruption of light, sound and heat as the bolt he’d deflected struck the pool, igniting the fuel explosively. The flames shot into the tube, exploding it rapidly before reaching the container the fuel had come from.

The resulting explosion engulfed three nearby ships and another pile of crates. While the crates and their contents were obliterated, the ships were made to survive the rigours of space combat. As such neither was destroyed, though both were pushed away. Their landing struts buckled, and they slid across the deck, slamming into other ships, random vehicles, and cultists.

“Says the man who just took out half the bay,” Vos replied with a chuckle even as he moved forward to engage a cultist who’d chosen to rush them with a vibroblade. His lightsaber sliced through the weapon with ease, and the cultist dropped to the ground a split-second later, a deep, smoking gouge a good fifteen centimetres deep having been burnt into his chest from the plasma of Vos’ lightsaber.

Dooku suppressed a sigh. The result of him deflecting that bolt hadn’t been intended, and it left him with no easy retort to the Kiffar Jedi’s remark. Still, the shockwave of the explosion should have triggered alarms throughout the base. If all went to plan, this could still be used to their advantage; particularly if they could draw Komari to them before the insertion team located and freed Cameron.

… …

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… …

At another location in the Bando Gora, far from where the two Jedi were creating havoc among the defenders, a section of a wall connecting one part of the complex with another imploded. Rubble showered the corridor, killing two unfortunate cultists who’d been nearby in a deadly rain of rock and permacrete.

Through the dust that engulfed the hole came a massive, heavily armoured man. His armour, distinctive to any in the know, was a darker shade of blue highlighted with black and a light brown. Ordo’s helmet, along with the heavy Z-6 rotary cannon in his arms swivelled as he surveyed the destruction caused by the explosive entry, almost as if looking for a target to unleash a symphony of plasma upon.

In the corridor he swept his weapon around in silence, but within the secured battlenet communication system he shared with his teammates, his voice came through sharp and clear. “Entrance secure. Hostiles down.” With that, he stepped forward, turning to guard one direction of the corridor. Through the hole behind him came three other heavily armed and armoured figures. To many the sight of a single battle-ready Mandalorian would be concerning, to say nothing of a small unit of four. Saxon and Kast stepped through, their rifles moving in time with their helmets as they secured the breech point. Kast took up position covering the direction Ordo hadn’t while Saxon stepped to the far side of the corridor and, assured the location was momentarily secure, lowered his rifle to check on a small hologram being generated by his vambrace.

Behind them came another female, shorter than any of the others. She had two pistols in hand with a blade of rippling metal attached to her back. “About haran time.” The last member of the strike team, Bo-Katan, muttered into the battlenet. For two months she’d been searching for her friend and now, with the help of her fellow Mandalorians – though she was still angered her father hadn’t sent more than just these three even if she understood the war against House Varaud and Death Watch was active on several fronts – she’d now be able to rescue Cam.

She glanced down at the two bodies caught in the Mandalorians' explosive entrance and while glad they’d died painfully, wished she could’ve been the one to end their pitiful existences.

“You know the mission Kryze. The Jedi draw the attention of these… people, while we breach and locate the target.” Ordo’s words echoed through the battlenet carrying a faint hint of annoyance; something he’d had since his father had ordered him to help with this mission and taken him away from his pregnant wife and the war.

“Move.” Saxon ordered, once more taking control of his ad-hoc unit. As one, even with the friction between Bo-Katan and the tall member, they moved. Rook a further step behind to cover their flank.

Bo-Katan was unable to get out a response as six cultists charged towards them. Thanks to their battlenet and the combined sensors of their armour, the Mandalorians knew they were coming. Not a single cultist fired off a bolt as four were cut down with ease by Ordo’s rotary cannon while Bo-Katan and Rook took out the other two with accurate shots to the skulls.

“Nar’sheb, Ordo.” The words came from Bo-Katan only after the potential threat was dealt with. “I know what the mission is. Better than any of you.” Her anger carried through their comms with ease.

“Mission first.” Gar ordered as they continued moving down the corridor. “HVT is eight levels down. The nearest shaft is one hundred metres south-south-east.” His words were accompanied by updated markers on the battlenet. A flashing black circle indicated their target while the shaft was marked by a grey line from their current location towards it, bending where their sensors could detect the layout of the base. Not all of the base could be detected, but Bo-Katan was aware that it was far more than on Kidriff, though whether that was due to less interference or the combined processing power of four Mandalorian armours, she didn’t know nor particularly care.

Bo-Katan wanted to respond once more that there was nothing going on with Cam, but this wasn’t the time or place to do that. As Gar said, the mission came first.

As expected, the corner brought forth no new hostiles though Bo-Katan did note that the walls had shifted from smooth duracrete to a stone suggesting it was more a natural tunnel than a corridor. Once Ordo was about five metres past the turn, the familiar faint hiss of a door opening flagged an alert in the battlenet which had already detected movement behind that side of the tunnel. Rook stayed on rear watch while Bo-Katan and Saxon moved forward. With no cover available in this section of corridor, using Ordo was the only option. Since all of them were in full beskar armour, they could all easily tank blaster fire, but any cover was better than none, even if it was provided by one of their own.

The Mandalorians were already firing before the first cultist was even halfway into the tunnel, the timing arranged for them by the battlenet. However, neither of the first two cultists fell as both were carrying large, portable blast shields. Those easily deflected the incoming fire, though the volume raining down on them forced both cultists to stop not long after emerging and planting their shields on the ground for support.

Even while they were doing that the Mandalorians were shifting targets. The battlenet had highlighted that the two rear cultists were armed with heavy ordinance. Return fire from the two cultists with standard weaponry bounced harmlessly off the beskar armour, though Bo-Katan used this moment to shift. Sliding fully behind Ordo, she pulled a small cylindrical object from her belt, pivoted and bounced it off the ceiling towards the cultists.

As it landed behind the blast shields, Rook fired a bolt from her modified rifle. The blast caught one of the two cultists between the eyes, making their body jerk back as they died a quick death. This was followed by the object Bo-Katan had thrown exploding, showering the remaining five cultists in shrapnel. Both blast shields fell forward as their wielders were blown over by the concussive force of the explosion. This was all the opening the Mandalorians needed, and before a single cultist could recover – for those that weren’t killed outright by the blast – they all lay dead on the floor.

Their weapons still smoking, the Mandalorians moved. Saxon swung his rifle into the room the cultist had come from. Seeing it empty but with a computer station, he stepped inside. Bo-Katan and Ordo assumed defensive positions outside as Rook followed her unit commander and lover inside.

Once the room was declared clear of traps, Rook moved to one side while Gar sat at the terminal.

About a minute later, a beep from the battlenet alerted Rook to new data being integrated and a second later the layout of the Bando Gora base appeared around them and the locations of Cameron and the shaft leading down. Gar then stood up even as Rook read that Cameron was being held in cells marked for ‘conversion’. That didn’t sound encouraging but did explain why the young man had been captured instead of killed two months ago.

Plotting out the quickest route to reach Cameron, Rook spotted three chokepoints where an ambush would likely take place. She highlighted them with glances, her helmet rotating and twisting the map based on her eye movements, then uploaded them to the battlenet. Those points became marked purple, as did one she’d missed – much to her displeasure – as Gar moved towards the still open door, Rook on his heels.

“These two may require more than brute force.” Gar spoke through the battlenet as they moved out as a unit. Two of the purple locations pulsed and Rook agreed with her lover’s assessment.

“I doubt that. These cultists are unworthy of our time and effort.” Rook resisted an urge to roll her eyes at Ordo’s behaviour. He’d been like this since they’d left the Mandalore sector and while she understood his agitation with leaving – the man’s wife was due to give birth soon – it was becoming a bore to have him be so dismissive of the mission, or the need to rescue Cameron Shan.

“Did you even listen to the briefing, mir’sheb? Their leader has issues with Master Dooku and has sent her best after him and Knight Vos.” Bo’s anger with Osto’s dismissal was greater than earlier flare-ups between the two, and Rook suspected that was due how close they were to rescuing Cameron. “That was the shabyr plan!”

“Which is why I wished to go with the Jetii. At least there I might face a worthy foe.” Rook was glad her helmet was on as it hid her rolling her eyes at the behaviour of the children of the two dukes.

“Focus,” was the only word Gar said, but it ended the argument before it became a problem.

“Understood.” Was Osto’s response to the order while Bo grunted, the irritation easy for Rook to pick out even through their shared comms.

The first flagged ambush location went as Rook had expected. The cultists attempted their ambush, her team simply mowed them down and kept going without issue. So far she had to agree with Osto that what defenders they’d run into weren’t a challenge, but she knew that would change the deeper they went and the closer they got to Cameron.

As they approached the elevator shaft that Gar marked when they’d breached the base, Gar was already contemplating possible ambush strategies the Bando Gora would use to deny them control of the elevator and developing tactics to counter those. His issues with the lack of intel regarding the base had been overcome by accessing the terminal after the first counterattack, though the latter was still an issue; even with the recordings of Kryze’s engagement with these cultists on Kidriff. From the battlenet, they were getting warnings regarding movement, but it was nowhere near as easy to detect the cultists as he’d hoped for, yet still more than Kryze had managed during the battle where their target had been captured.

Gar checked the vitals of Kryze through the battlenet while he once again wondered if she was aware of her weakness regarding their target, but he put it out of his mind as the battlenet bleeped an alert. The second possible ambush location – the elevator entrance – was approaching and the sensors had detected movement. He looked at the map and quickly worked out the most likely approach the ambushers would take, then tapped out commands to his team on his vambrace. The team shifted formation; he moved up alongside Ordo, Rook behind them with Kryze fell back. The youngest member of his unit was likely unhappy with this, but at least she was keeping her emotions in check for now and not commenting.

Rounding the final corner before the elevator allowed the battlenet to use visual sensors to highlight their opponents. Eight cultists were arrayed in front of them; the lead four were using portable barricades with slits for blasters to fire out of while the latter four were standing behind crates that looked to have been hastily stacked. All eight were armed with blasters, though none were considered to have enough concussive power to knock over one of his unit while the entire group was spread out just enough that it would take at least three grenades to take them all out, which meant they’d observed the earlier battles. Without the battlenet Gar would’ve ordered his unit to move forward, cutting through the defences as their armour tanked the weapons of the cultists. With it, Gar knew there were groups on both sides, waiting to swarm in from doors just past the corner once they’d advanced past them.

Ordo stepped forward, his cannon coming to life and showering the passage with bolts of plasma. The cultists, having only managed to get off a few shots before Ordo moved, were forced to seek cover. While the barricades would survive against blaster bolts, the sheer number Ordo’s cannon was spitting at them made them rock like a tree in a gentle breeze. The crates fared far worse with several exploding as they buckled under the volume of fire.

With the enemy forced to take cover, Gar extended his arm and shot two rockets in quick succession from his vambrace. They sailed high, not intending to strike a barricade, only to explode once they were over the cultist’s positions. The passage was engulfed in a blinding light and searing sonic blast, but the helmets of the Mandalorians were both designed to counter that and prepared as this was always Gar’s plan. As the eight cultists struggled to even keep their weapons in hand, the foursome advanced.

This had the doors at the sides of the passage open up, disgorging the ambushing force, yet Rook and Kryze were ready. Rook shot the lead cultist from the left door in his knees, then the next in the leg. The pair fell to the floor in a tangle, dragging down the two right behind them. Those two were dead before they landed on the lead two. The last two from that door tried to stay back and use the doorway as cover, however Rook was ready for this. A flick of her wrist bounced a grenade through the doorway with the explosion engulfing the two taking cover. As they were blown forward, Rook shot them once each in the head, then made sure the first two targets were dead.

Kryze killed her first two cultists with a trio of shots to the head of each. As those bodies fell to the ground, she stepped forward, pistols blazing, and gunned down the next two. The last two had the same idea as the two from the left door and stayed inside, yet the concussive force of Rook’s grenade knocked them back into their starting room. Kryze followed them, holstering one pistol then ripping her beskad from its magnetic clip. The cultists had barely managed to stabilize their balance before the blade was on them in a silver blur and the two fell to the ground, dead from their wounds while blood dripped from the tip of Kryze’s blade.

When Kryze stepped back into the tunnel, the eight cultists who’d been blocking their way were all down. Three of the four barricades were knocked over – with one on top of a body – while the third had been driven into the gut of a cultist, making it now soaked red from the man’s blood. The crates were gone, having been destroyed and what remained of them now embedded in the four cultists who’d used them as cover.

As a relative silence returned to the tunnel, Gar nodded towards the elevator. Nothing was said around the bodies, yet the command had been given over their secured comms. Ordo stepped forward, being mindful of his footing as he moved through the attempted ambush with the others following behind. Once they reached the doors to the elevator, Gar examined the controls. No signs of tampering or traps came up with a scan, still he wasn’t taking any chances.

All four stepped back with Rook and Ordo picking up two of the downed barricades and Gar aiming his other vambrace at the controls. A small dart shot out, striking the button to summon the car inside the shaft. The unit waited patiently, expecting to see a warning on the battlenet about an approaching group of cultists in the car, or something else that could be a threat. However, the car arrived normally, pinging loudly to tell the floor that it had arrived. The doors opened showing an empty car, but the unit didn’t move until the doors closed.

Even though everything seemed safe, Gar was taking no chances. He moved past Ordo and resummoned the car, this time pressing the button himself. He then, after scanning the car’s interior, tapped the button to send it to a level one below where Shan was being held. He stepped back, letting the doors close, then tracked the descent of the elevator through the battlenet. Once it was out of range, and the display over the elevator doors stated it had arrived, he grunted. The cultists had seemingly not moved to rig the doors, car or shaft to prevent their operation from continuing. A basic flaw that Gar was happy to make use of.

“Ordo, open the doors.” The large man stepped around the barricade he’d been taking semi-cover behind. He handed his canon to Gar, then pulled a vibroknife from his belt. It took about a minute for him to force a big enough gap between the protective doors for the shaft that he could get his fingers in, but once that was done, he pulled the doors open, the motors that controlled them whining in protest at his actions. With them forced open, Rook and Kryze placed two discarded blaster rifles from the cultists into the frame, having removed the power cells first. Ordo stood back and while the doors tried to close, the blasters prevented them from doing so by jamming into the gap on the floor the doors slid along.

With that done, Gar stepped to the edge. Once he was sure the battlenet wasn’t detecting anything untoward, he leaned forward and scanned upwards. Nothing stood out in the levels above, nor below when he scanned that way; save for the car waiting at the floor below Shan’s level.

Gar then turned to the doors, located the small sensors that kept the doors from closing on anyone between them. He placed small adhesive strips over them so that even if the blaster slipped and fell the door should stay open.

“Kast, maintain this location.” Rook nodded and turned back, moved the two barricades together and knelt behind them, her helmet and rifle moving in unison to survey the path they’d come down.

Gar leapt into the shaft, his jet pack engaging on command, then slowly floated down. Ordo and Kryze followed behind and Gar noted a spike in Kryze’s dopamine and endorphin levels. Rook would’ve seen that too and would no doubt use it to tease the other woman once the mission was over. But that was then, this was now and until it became a problem, Gar would not comment on the matter.

Gar, Ordo and Kryze touched down as quietly as possible on the roof of the car and Gar turned to the door to the detention level. The battlenet – slightly weaker as Rook was several hundred metres away – was pinging over a dozen contacts on the other side with more nearby. This was the location Gar had expected the heaviest resistance, though he would’ve preferred to have been wrong in this case.

Gar considered having Ordo once more force open the door. There was little that could damage beskar, but enough strikes could cause the wearer issues from the concussive effects. Plus, exposing the heir to one of the most powerful clans wasn’t a prudent choice. “Blow it.”

Kryze gave an amused grunt then stepped forward. She pulled a thermal detonator from her belt, adhered it to the doors then tapped at the very small display on the device. With that done, the three lifted off and moved halfway back to where Rook was maintaining their evac route. A nod to Kryze had her tap at her vambrace.

There was very little blowback into the shaft as the thermal detonator had been programmed to direct its charge into the door, which had been sent into the cultists waiting to ambush them in the room outside. There were no groans or howls of pain, but Gar had expected that. The briefing had explained how the Bando Gora cultists were able to go beyond their pain thresholds and had been proven true by the cultists they’d already taken care of.

Gar floated down only for streaks of blaster fire to slam into the shaft through whatever remained of the doorway. Using his onboard computer, Gar quickly calculated there six to nine active hostiles. The uncertainty came from the fact several bolts were coming from locations that could be manned by one individual moving around to generate confusion. Working on the safer assumption that there were at least nine hostiles inside the room, Gar slung his rifle over he back, letting it rest on the top of his jetpack, before unclipping two grenades from his belt.

While he could guess the rough trajectory he needed, the battlenet helped him determine the optimal angle for getting both grenades into the room to cause maximum carnage. The combined shockwave of the grenades echoed into the shaft, though even before it passed them, Gar was leading his unit down. He landed on the elevator car and surveyed the destruction. Bodies were strewn around the room with streaks and smears of blood showing which limbs belonged to which bodies. Three targets were highlighted as still moving but all three had gone still by the time Kryze and Ordo landed beside him.

Gar took the lead and they stepped into the room, their weapons sweeping the area to ensure all hostiles were done. With that done, Gar moved to what remained of the central station. Shan’s location was about thirty metres due east of them, but the doors blocked their movement.

“Kast, move.”

From the schematics Gar had downloaded earlier, they all knew the two other doors led to other parts of the base, one being the hangar where the Jedi were likely still engaged with the Bando Gora the other towards the barracks and what the map indicated was a worship chamber.

Gar tried to access the console, though as expected, it had been destroyed. “Breach.” He said to Kryze through their comms. She nodded and pulled another thermal detonator on the door. The unit moved back to the shaft, meeting up with Kast who’d obeyed his order to descend, and took positions to the side of the doors to avoid any backdraft. Another explosion rocked the room they’d just vacated and as soon as the shockwave had gone, Gar re-entered.

The blast doors had been breached enough that someone could go through them, with what hadn’t been vapourised in the explosion showering the corridor in debris. The bloody remains of two cultists were splattered around the walls, reminding Gar of one of those strange artworks that were popular in Sundari before the civil war.

“Kryze, Kast, secure the target. Ordo, blast doors.”

The unit split with Gar and Ordo covering the two passageways that connected to this room while the two women entered through the destroyed doorway to the cells. Gar pulled the lever to activate the blast doors only to grunt in annoyance when they failed to deploy. Knowing the objective wasn’t to continue down this passageway, he shot the controls for the regular doors. While that wouldn’t stop anyone entering it would delay them, hopefully giving his unit and target enough time to withdraw safely.

He looked over at Ordo to see that not only had those blast doors not deployed, but the regular doors had been jarred open by the damage done to the room. Understanding that was the likelier point of egress, he moved over to help cover that door. Though not before rigging the door he’s temporarily disabled with motion activated grenades.

While the men took up defendable positions, Bo let Rook into the cellblock. Each side had a row of doors, sunken slightly that to reach any you had to walk down a handful of stairs with the controls for the door locks located at the entrance to the corridor. While Bo moved towards the cell they knew Cam was in, Rook activated the controls for that cell. Thankfully they hadn’t been damaged when the outer doors had been breached, and the cell door opened with a faint hiss right as Bo took the first step down.

A glance at a barely working monitor confirmed that others were being held here, and while Rook felt for them, the mission was to extract Cam.

“Tion’shab?” The whispered curse from Bo had Rook moving forward. Bo had stopped barely a step into the cell which didn’t speak well of Cam’s condition, though she was moving quickly towards Cam by the time Rook reached the stairs. Blaster fire echoed from the control room along with a notice over the battlenet that Gar and Ordo were engaged, but any thoughts about that left Rook’s mind as she caught sight of Cam from the door.

“Osik!” Rook’s curse joined with Bo’s earlier one as she processed what she was seeing. Cam was wearing what looked like a simple grey mask that covered everything but his eyes, yet it was disturbing the sensors in Rook’s helmet. Yet her focus was quickly on the rest of him. There were multiple cuts all over his body to varying degrees of freshness with the newest ones being where strips of skin were missing. That included two on his forearms and one, downright disturbingly, on his exposed dick. Some of his fingernails had been forcibly pulled back or twisted and if not for Bo’s position Rook suspected she’d see the same for his toenails.

A quickly filling pool of anger developed inside Rook as she realised that whoever had done this wasn’t doing to extract information but to inflict pain; possibly even gaining some enjoyment from Cam’s torment. A desire to find this person and teach them why one didn’t attack a Mando’ade, not unless they wished to experience the might of her people coming down on their head, flashed in her mind. However, she capped that pool, pushed the desire to one side, and focused on what needed to be done.

As Bo started yanking at the cables suspending Cam in the air, she stepped forward, shifted her rifle to one hand while the other pulled a small bag from her belt. A moment later Bo yanked her beskad from its sheath and slashed through the cables. Cam fell and Bo was only able to catch him by dropping her beskad, ignoring the clatter as it bounced on the cold, metal floor.

“Cam? Cam?!” Bo’s words drew no response from the young man as she sank to her knees with him in her arms before she began tugging at the mask Cam was wearing. When it didn’t move easily, she started yanking harder.

“Come on Cam, wake up!” The desperation in Bo’s voice was easy for Rook to hear, yet this wasn’t the time to tease her about it even as Bo continued pulling and twisting the mask.

Rook moved closer; her rifle already slung to the side as she pulled bacta patches from a pouch on her belt and started applying them to the larger wounds. Bo, who had finally managed to tear off the mask covering Cam’s face, gasped in shock at how pale his face was.

“Cam?” Bo’s despair grew massively, and, while Rook understood why, she kept her focus on applying bacta patches to the places that needed them the most. Bo pulled her helmet off, dropping it beside her then cupped Cam’s face in her gauntlets. “Look at me!”

Cam’s eyes fluttered open, though Rook noted they were unfocused and heavy. Which made sense if he was retreating inward to survive what he’d been subjected to. Bo lifted his chin, trying to get him to look at, focus on, her.

He blinked, the fog in his mind seeming to clear. “B-bo?” Rook felt her breath hitch at both how ragged his words were and the despondency in his tone, yet Bo either didn’t hear it, or didn’t care. She pulled his face closer to hers.

“Yeah. I’m here.” If Rook didn’t think there was something going on between them before, she certainly did a moment later as Cam lunged forward, his lips slamming into Bo’s. A faint squeak of surprise or shock escaped from Bo even as Rook was taken aback at the desire in the kiss. Cam’s hands lifted slowly, weakly, as Bo’s own hands slid towards Cam’s hair. Yet before they could reach that, Cam pulled back and broke the kiss.

“Th-thank, you. K-Knew y-y-you’d c-come.” His scratchy voice was barely above a whisper, but Rook heard the faint embers of hope in it before he rested his forehead against Bo’s. Rook gave them a moment, though making sure to keep a recording of this to tease Bo with at a later date before she coughed.

Bo jerked back as if shot. Her hands removed themselves so fast from Cam’s face that it drooped low as if unable to support itself for a second. When Bo turned to her, Rook saw that Bo’s eyes were wide with shock, which brought a badly needed smile to Rook’s face.

“Kast sitrep.” Gar’s voice through the commlink ended her amusement even as Bo returned her focus to Cam.

“Target located, though he’s… in a bad way.” She sent a copy of Cam’s vitals – minus visual imagery – over the battlenet even as Bo’s eyes wandered over Cam’s body. While Rook was very happy with Gar, she was impressed with how well-developed Cam was becoming. He still had several years of growth to go, but he was well on the way to becoming a very large and imposing male, even if he looked to be slightly malnourished side after months of torture.

“Tell Kryze to get him ready for transport, then get out here.” A readout of the combat taking place nearby made it clear that while Gar and Ordo could hold their positions, if the enemy kept massing, they’d soon be overrun.

“Understood.” A glance inside her helmet opened the external mic. “Time to move. Gar and Osto are heavily engaged.” The explanation was given as she stood, sliding her rifle back into her hands. “Use the patches quickly.”

Bo nodded at her words and reached for the bag. Rook turned to leave only to pause as a hand touched her knee. She turned back to see Cam was looking up at her, his eyes drifting from her armour to her helmet.

“Th-a-nk you Ro-ok.” As she nodded to him, after realising he’d recognized her from her personal sigil, she lifted the lid on her pooled anger. A quick check of her rifle assured her she didn’t need to reload and as she stepped from the cell, she was glad there were so many cultists around as she had a lot of rage to work through.

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