A Living Nightmare
Chapter 12: A Day in the Life
"He was the most gifted apprentice, second only to Anakin. With so many gifts, he is a formidable opponent to the Empire."
Location: Ballassa- Ussa City
The first rays of dawn bathed Ussa City in a soft golden glow, the sun rising over its seven interconnected lakes like a guardian waking from slumber. The shimmering water stretched across the city’s heart, reflecting the vibrant hues of the morning sky. Bridges, both ancient and modern, arched over the waterways, their designs a testament to Ussa’s rich history. The oldest districts nestled along the lakeshores with cobblestone streets and weathered buildings, while the newer sectors climbed the hills, filled with sleek, glass-fronted structures that glistened like jewels.
Ferus Olin stood by the window of his modest apartment, sipping from a steaming cup of caffe. He winced as the heat scorched his tongue, muttering a curse under his breath. Setting the mug on the windowsill, he let his gaze wander to the bustling streets below. Vendors were beginning to set up their stalls along the lakeside promenade, their movements quick and purposeful. A few speeders zipped by, their engines humming softly in the early quiet.
As his eyes scanned the scene, they landed on a young blind man sitting against a wall across the street from his shop. The man held a tin cup tilted toward passersby, his unseeing eyes staring straight ahead. His clothes were tattered, his face unkempt and filthy. A pang of pity struck Ferus, but he hesitated. Helping openly in a city so heavily monitored by the Empire could invite unwanted scrutiny.
Just as Ferus debated heading downstairs, the blind man turned his face toward him, as though sensing his gaze. For a brief, unsettling moment, their eyes seemed to meet. Ferus stepped back from the window, his heart racing. “You’re imagining things,” he muttered, shaking his head. When he looked again, pedestrians were walking past, oblivious to the blind man’s presence.
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The repair shop Ferus ran with his partner, Roan Land, was nestled in a quieter district near one of Ussa’s smaller lakes. The building was unassuming, its exterior a mix of weathered stone and durasteel reinforcements. The sign above the entrance bore the simple name "Olin & Land Repairs" in bold Aurebesh letters. Inside, the shop was a blend of functionality and chaos. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with spare parts, tools, and containers of lubricant. A small counter near the entrance doubled as a workspace, its surface perpetually cluttered with datapads and broken components.
The heart of the shop was the main repair bay, where workbenches stood amidst a tangle of half-repaired droids, speeder bike engines, and diagnostic tools. The air carried a faint metallic tang, mixed with the scent of machine oil and the ozone bite of recently soldered circuits. Light streamed through a series of high windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.
Roan was already at one of the workbenches when Ferus arrived, hunched over a battered delivery droid. His red hair was a messy halo, and his green eyes were narrowed in concentration as he tightened a connector inside the droid’s casing.
“Morning,” Roan said without looking up.
Ferus dropped his jacket on a nearby chair and sighed. “Morning. You’re early.”
“You’re late,” Roan replied, smirking as he grabbed a hydrospanner. “This thing’s been glitching all morning. Apparently, it tried to deliver a crate of fruit to the wrong lake district. Almost dunked the cargo into the water.”
Ferus crouched beside the droid, inspecting its navigation module. “Water damage?”
“Looks like it,” Roan said. “Must’ve taken a dip before someone pulled it out. Navigation module’s fried, but we might be able to salvage the rest.”
They worked in companionable silence for a while, the rhythmic hum of their tools blending with the occasional murmur of passing speeders. The shop’s first customer of the day arrived shortly after—a portly Rodian with green, leathery skin and a raspy voice. He carried a cracked repulsorlift generator, its casing scarred from years of use.
“This is from my food cart,” the Rodian said, placing the generator on the counter. “Keeps shorting out when I try to move between the market districts.”
Ferus nodded, taking the generator and examining its internals. “Looks like the power couplings are corroded. We’ll replace those and recalibrate the energy flow. Shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours.”
The Rodian grunted his thanks and shuffled out, leaving a faint smell of spice in his wake. Next came an Ithorian couple, their dual mouths producing the deep, resonant tones of their species as they explained the issue with their malfunctioning vaporator.
“It keeps cycling too fast,” one of them said. “We’ve had to ration water for the past week.”
“We’ll take care of it,” Roan assured them, his easygoing demeanor putting them at ease. “Come back this afternoon, and it’ll be good as new.”
The steady stream of customers continued throughout the morning. A young human woman arrived with a broken astromech head, her face flushed with embarrassment as she explained how it had fallen off her balcony. A Duros pilot stopped by with a cracked speeder bike chassis, muttering about an Imperial checkpoint damaging it during a search.
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The door slammed open with a metallic clang, startling everyone in the shop. A wiry man with a scar running down his face stomped inside, carrying a small repulsorlift module. His eyes darted around the room, wild and unfocused.
“This thing’s a piece of junk!” he snarled, slamming the module onto the counter. “You fixed it last week, and now it’s worse than before.”
Roan looked up from his workbench, unfazed. “Let’s take a look,” he said calmly, stepping toward the counter.
The man yanked the module back, his movements jerky. “No! You’re not touching it again. I want my credits back!”
Ferus set down his tools, his senses on high alert as he approached the scene. The other customers, sensing trouble, began to edge away, their expressions wary.
“Alright,” Roan said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “If you’re not happy, we can discuss a refund, but—”
“Talk?!” the man interrupted, his voice rising. “I’m done talking!”
To everyone’s shock, he pulled a blaster from his belt, aiming it directly at Roan. Gasps echoed through the shop, and the tension became unbearable. Roan froze, his green eyes wide, but his voice remained steady.
“Hey,” Roan said carefully. “There’s no need for that. Let’s keep things calm, alright?”
Ferus’s mind raced. The man was unstable, his grip on the blaster unsteady. One wrong move could end in disaster.
“Lower the weapon,” Ferus said, stepping forward with deliberate calm. “No one needs to get hurt.”
The man turned to him, his eyes narrowing. “Stay back!”
“I’m not moving,” Ferus said, holding up his hands. “But think about this. If you pull that trigger, what happens next? You’ll have to run. The authorities will find you. Is that the life you want?”
The man hesitated, his hand trembling. Ferus reached out with the Force, focusing his energy into his voice. He spoke again, layering his words with subtle influence. “You don’t want to do this. Lower the blaster. Turn yourself in. It’s the right thing to do.”
The man’s face twisted with confusion, his will battling against the suggestion. Then, slowly, his shoulders slumped. The blaster wavered before he set it down on the counter.
“You’re right,” the man muttered. “I don’t want this.”
The other customers quickly ushered him out, murmuring about reporting the incident to the authorities. The tension in the room dissipated, but Ferus felt the weight of what had just happened settle heavily on his shoulders. He had made a mistake.
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The shop was quiet as Ferus and Roan finished closing up for the night. The tools were neatly stored, the floors swept, and the shutters drawn over the windows. But the atmosphere between them was tense, an unspoken question hanging in the air.
Roan leaned against the counter, his arms crossed. “Alright,” he said finally. “What the hell was that?”
Ferus kept his focus on the tool cabinet, locking it with deliberate precision. “What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean,” Roan said, his voice sharp. “That guy was ready to shoot me, and then you just… talked him down. It didn’t feel normal, Ferus. It felt like you got inside his head.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Ferus turned, his expression carefully neutral. “I just stayed calm. Said the right things.”
Roan shook his head. “No. That wasn’t natural. And it’s not the first time. How about the one time with that speeder bike and Trever? Or the way you always seem to know when trouble’s coming? You’re hiding something.”
Before Ferus could respond, the distant hum of speeders grew louder. His instincts flared, and he moved to the window, peering through the gap in the shutters.
Stormtroopers. A dozen of them, their armor gleaming under the streetlights. And at their head, draped in crimson robes, was Acting Governor Malorum.
The doors burst open, and the stormtroopers filed in, blasters raised. Ferus and Roan froze as Malorum entered with deliberate steps, his heavy red robes swirling around him like liquid fire. His sharp eyes scanned the room, landing on Ferus.
“Ferus Olin,” Malorum said, his voice smooth and cold. “You’ve been quite difficult to find.”
Ferus’s mind raced. He couldn’t let Roan get dragged into this. “You’ve got the wrong guy,” he said evenly.
Malorum’s lips curled into a faint smile. “Do I? A man who stops speeders with a gesture? Who talks armed attackers into surrendering? You’ve been careless, Olin.”
Roan turned to Ferus, his face pale with confusion. Ferus didn’t break eye contact with Malorum. “If you’ve got proof, show it. Otherwise, I’m just a mechanic.”
Malorum’s smile faded. “Proof is irrelevant. My word is law. And you, Jedi, are coming with me.”
The stormtroopers moved forward, but Ferus was already reaching for the hidden switch beneath the counter. A portion of the wall near them slid open with a hiss, and he shoved Roan toward it.
“Go!” Ferus shouted, pulling a scattergun from under the counter and blasting one of the troopers with it before rushing across those few meters to the hidden path.
Blaster fire erupted as they ran into the tunnels below. The air was cool and damp as they ran, the sound of boots echoing above. Reaching a junction, Ferus pulled out a detonator and set it against the wall.
“What are you doing?” Roan panted.
“Buying us time,” Ferus replied, activating the detonator.
The explosion rocked the tunnel, sealing the path behind them with a cascade of rushing water and debris. Ferus grabbed Roan’s arm and kept running. They emerged near the edge of the sixth lake, the moonlight casting a silvery sheen on the water.
“What the hell is going on, Ferus?” Roan demanded, his voice shaking.
Ferus glanced back toward the city, knowing the Empire wouldn’t stop until they found him. “I’ll explain later,” he said grimly. “For now, we keep moving.”
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“For now, we keep moving,” Ferus whispered to his companion. I could hear the exhaustion in his voice. They were below me, crawling through the mud and decay that reeked from the old waste tunnels. I stood above, on higher ground, following them without the need for sight.
I took in a deep breath, feeling the weight of the rotary saber in my hand. Its cold hilt was a reminder of my bloody purpose, but tonight it felt heavier—almost as though the weapon itself was reluctant. The world around me was an orchestra of nocturnal life. Reptiles croaked, bugs whined, and the air was dense with damp and the smell of earth. It made it difficult to concentrate, but I forced myself into focus.
Malorum had demanded my obedience, a leash I defiantly pulled against. He commanded me, threw me around like a servant. My lips curled at the thought of him. If circumstances were different, I’d have gladly rid myself of that blight, dumped his body into one of these lakes and watched him sink. But I needed him, just for a little while longer.
The plan was simple. Malorum wanted Ferus to lead us to others, to expose any hidden networks, to draw out remnants of the old Jedi Order. I wanted Malorum dead, removed from the board entirely. I wanted to correct a mistake that should not be. So, I followed Ferus Olin, keeping an eye on him. I had my own plan now, even if this twisted timeline frightened me more than I cared to admit.
Ferus should have been gone, from this planet entirely by now. Malorum should have died on Naboo over a decade ago. And Roan? Roan should never have been here at all. This distorted, altered reality brought with it a great worry, a discomfort that ran deeper than my new training ever allowed me to feel. But there would be time to consider such things later—now, there was only the hunt.
They were getting away, thought not too far. What is distance compared to the ever present Force? I reached for the Force, extending my awareness toward Ferus’ companion—the weak link. Roan. His presence flickered in the Force, a mere waning ember compared to the inferno of Ferus. It was easy. A wave of my hand, a quick pull, and Roan screamed, yanked up to where I stood. I ignited my saber, the crimson blade casting a pale, red glow over his terrified face.
“Good evening, Jedi,” I said, my voice cold but laced with polite amusement. “As a businessman, I’m sure you enjoy a good deal. And I have one you surely can’t refuse.”
Ferus’ head snapped up, his eyes locking onto me. His saber ignited with a blue flash, the hum filling the damp air between us. I could feel his anger rise, the struggle within him to control it. He took a cautious step forward, and his voice came out tight. “You let him go, or you’ll regret it.” Years of letting go of the Jedi Code does that to a Jedi I imagine, quick to impulses they denied.
The familiar sensation of danger prickled along my senses, the edge of his defiance like a sharp blade in the dark.
“Regret?” I chuckled, drawing the blade closer to Roan’s throat. “Jedi, you misunderstand. This is not a negotiation. Surrender, and I’ll let him go. Continue to fight, and you’ll only bring more suffering.”
He charged, his anger fueling him. His attack was swift, a downward strike aimed at my right shoulder. I could sense it in the Force before it even began. I sidestepped, throwing Roan to the side while deflecting the attack and pushing him back. I used the Force to mess with his perception—pushing against his precognitive sense, altering what he expected to feel in the next moment. It was difficult to try on a well trained mind, even after not having practiced for years. The innate ferocity remained, so I just slithered in where I could.
To him, the ground shifted, the air thickened, his balance seemed wrong. His strikes were clumsy, ill-timed. Each move he made, I countered with ease, my saber spinning in tight arcs, the crimson glow leaving streaks in the night air.
“You’re faltering, Olin,” I said, my voice a rasp as our sabers clashed, the Force between us crackling. “Your connection to the Force is waning. Are you truly so weak?” I wanted him to fumble, I wanted him to doubt. It was always a surefire tactic.
His teeth were gritted in frustration, his moves becoming more desperate, more reckless. I kept pushing—not physically, but mentally. I reached into his mind, twisting his sense of what would happen next, sending false visions, tricking his instincts.
Roan’s body stirred, and I felt his fear spike in the Force. He tried to scramble for a blaster at his belt, aiming it toward me, his aim shaky. I flicked my wrist and sent him crashing into a nearby tree, his body slumping against the trunk. He wasn’t dead—not yet—but he would be soon enough.
The clearing was filled with the hiss and crackle of clashing sabers, the lake’s calm surface reflecting the red and blue glow. Ferus attacked again, but his strikes were wild, lacking the calm focus of a true Jedi. I met each one, our blades locking and pushing against each other, the Force between us a living, pulsing entity.
I reached further into him, deep into his fear, his uncertainty. “You’ve already lost, Olin. Just surrender. You know you can’t win.”
His eyes flashed with anger, his strikes becoming even more furious. He had power—raw, untamed power—but it was his anger that would be his undoing. He stepped forward, pushing me back with a heavy slash. He was no longer just drawing on the light—something darker was coming to the surface.
A chill ran down my spine as I felt it—the unmistakable presence of the dark side. He was tapping into it, his fear and anger feeding his strength. And that was when I realized my mistake.
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The duel was interrupted by a commanding voice that boomed across the clearing. I had focused far too much on Ferus to feel the caped snake make his way to us.
“Enough!”
Malorum stepped into view, his presence radiating in the Force like a dark, oppressive cloud. He moved with deliberate confidence, his crimson robes flowing behind him. In his hand, he held something gruesome—a severed head. Roan’s head.
He tossed it to the ground, and it landed with a dull thud, rolling until it came to rest in the dirt. The air rippled with Ferus’ anguish, his presence exploding with pain and rage.
Malorum smiled, his tone dripping with venom. “Come with us, Ferus, or end up like—”
The words never finished. Ferus lifted his hand, his face contorted in anger. A bolt of raw, dark energy surged from his fingertips—blue lightning that cracked through the air, directed at both me and Malorum. The power of the attack was unlike anything I’d felt from him before—it was dark, full of rage, and it caught me off guard.
The lightning struck me, searing through my nerves, driving me to my knees. I raised my saber, angling the blade to catch the worst of it, the energy crackling against the crimson plasma. Malorum wasn’t as lucky. The lightning hit him full on, and his screams filled the night. I could feel his pain, his agony as his body convulsed, his robes smoldering, the acrid scent of burnt flesh filling my senses.
Through the haze of pain, I acted. I reached for Malorum’s lightsaber with the Force, ripping it from his belt and igniting it midair. The crimson blade sprang to life, and with a precise flick of my wrist, I angled it upward—fifteen degrees—and drove it through Malorum’s body, from his hip to his shoulder.
His screams turned to a wet, choking gasp, his aura in the Force dimming rapidly. I pulled the blade free, catching it in my other hand.
The clearing fell into silence, the only sound the crackling of burnt fabric and the distant lapping of the lake against the shore. I stood there, breathing heavily, my senses still buzzing from the lightning. I had been electrocuted before, several times back when. But that was...worse, much much worse.
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Ferus was staring at me, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with shock and anger and something else—something like disbelief. I could feel his presence in the Force, a swirling storm of emotion. He was powerful, far more powerful than I had anticipated, and in that moment, I understood that I couldn’t fight him. Not like this.
Slowly, deliberately, I deactivated both lightsabers. The red blades vanished with a snap-hiss, and I tossed the hilts away, letting them clatter to the ground.
“Now that we’re alone,” I said, raising my hands in a gesture of surrender, “we need to talk.”
Ferus’ face twisted in fury, his eyes blazing with hatred. He lifted his hand, and I felt the dark energy gather around him, felt the Force begin to constrict around me. My feet left the ground as he lifted me, his voice a roar of anguish.
“TALK?!” he screamed, the Force breaking through my defenses, shattering my barrier like glass. The pressure on my chest was immense, the dark side coiling around me, squeezing the air from my lungs. “Roan is dead and NOW YOU WANT TO TALK?!”
The world around me blurred, my focus slipping. He was strong—too strong. His emotions were fueling his power, amplifying his strength in the Force. I could feel his pain, his rage, his loss—it was all pouring into the dark side, feeding his attack.
My mind raced, searching for an answer, a way to get through to him. I couldn’t fight back, not against this. Not now. His power was overwhelming, and I knew that if I didn’t find a way to calm him, he would kill me.
“Ferus…” I gasped, struggling against the pressure. “You’re stronger… than this.”
Come on, please work cheesy lines! I thought. I believed it though, a Jedi should be able to rise above their emotions. They should be.
He hesitated, just for a moment, his grip faltering. I could feel his turmoil, the conflict within him. He was teetering on the edge.
“Think of… what Roan would want,” I choked out, the words barely audible. “This… this isn’t the way.”
His grip loosened, the pressure on my chest easing. I fell to the ground, gasping for breath, my body aching from the strain. I looked up at him, seeing the confusion, the pain in his expression.
“We need to talk,” I said again, my voice steadier this time. “We can't help each other if we're dead.”
He stood there, his chest still heaving, his eyes locked on mine. I could feel the struggle within him. I knew he would make the right choice.