A Living Nightmare
Chapter 14: Group Projects
"Take the greatest Jedi Knight, strip away the Force, and what remains? They rely on it, depend on it, more than they know. Watch as one tries to hold a blaster, as they try to hold a lightsaber, and you will see nothing more than a woman – or a man. A child."
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7 BBY
Location: Fortress Inquisitorious - Training Hall 5
Enemies surrounded me on all sides. One behind, two to my flank, and the fourth ahead of me had just lost its head. Sparks flew as the droid's head hit the floor with a heavy thud, its body collapsing right after. The remaining droids rushed at me—a stab aimed for my back, while two vibroblades targeted my right leg and the left side of my neck.
I stepped back, moving my leg out of the way and simultaneously avoiding the blade aimed at my head with a slight duck. The droid behind me stopped, frozen in place mid-stab. The Force enveloped it, halting its movement entirely.
With another quick swipe of my lightsaber, I brought one droid down at the knees, keeping my momentum as I swung the blade to block the strike from the droid on my right. Deciding against a quick finish with a deflection into a decisive strike, I instead moved aside with a burst of speed and released the droid I had held with the Force. Its stab, originally intended for me, now drove through its ally, impaling it from shoulder to shoulder.
Why do all the work myself when I can manipulate my enemies into doing my job for me?
With only one droid remaining, I pulled back, switching off the saber and seeking clarity through the Force. The sparks of energy flowing in their circuits allowed me to sense their movements with some difficulty, but it was that very energy I wanted to study, to understand, and make my own. For weeks I had been confined to the Fortress, training and doing what I could with my limited access to the Archive records. Reading about Force techniques and applying them in practice were two very different things. Especially when it came to Force Lightning.
The short battle with Ferus Olin had shaken me—made me angry, envious. A failed Jedi who left before the Order collapsed, who hadn’t delved into the Force for years, just so happens to display the most powerful ability the dark side can manifest? I knew he was talented, rivaling even Anakin when they were Padawans, but witnessing it firsthand was an eye-opener. I should have been more cautious when I received the mission to assist Malorum. Truth be told, it was a miracle I didn’t lose a limb or worse back then. We lost a foolish man and gained a powerful agent—one I desperately wanted to contact and ask some pointed questions.
Ferus' position in the Empire, or even his current status, was unknown once he fell into Darth Vader’s hands. I wagered he would be planted as a double agent or something similar to what he once was in the old days, but that didn’t concern me. I told myself I didn’t care. His life was none of my concern.
“You took everything from me.” His last malicious words to me echoed in my mind. Idiot. Misplaced anger directed at me for simply doing my job. It made me angry in turn. He should have known what fate awaited him. He should have realized where the path he chose would eventually lead. Regardless of caution or planning, the Force has a way of bringing about the destiny it desires. If that leaves you broken, hateful, and enslaved—so be it. There are worse fates Ferus could have faced, and I showed him mercy.
I clenched my teeth, letting my frustrations grow, letting my hatred fuel me. A whirling vortex of dark energy built within me. I was a hypocrite, contradictory. I was angry at myself. Justifications only go so far, and the vortex within finally broke through.
The Force manifested out from my hands—a wave of raw, physical energy that blasted the droid apart as if it had been hit by a podracer at full speed.
Fuck. No lightning. Just a nicely powered push.
I let out a snarl, igniting my lightsaber and instinctively lashing out at the life form who had conveniently entered the room right after the destruction of the last training droid. I already sensed his intentions, having finally recovered from his wounds during our last outing. The Fifth Brother brought his blade up to block the spinning lightsaber aimed at him, deflecting it easily.
"Such rage! Surely these droids did not give you any trouble Fourteen?", he mocked, his own anger bubbling beneath his calm tones.
The spinning saber returned to my hand. "Kriff off." I spat out, turning the weapon off and started making my way to one of the other exits. I was hungry. I was done and wanted to head to the mess hall. My footfalls the only sound aside from the still ignited blade of the other Inquisitor. I passed by more destroyed droids that littered the training hall, blasters and vibroblades sitting discarded amongst sparking circuitry.
"Halt your steps. I have not come here for nothing." called out the grey skinned alien. I sensed a flicker in the Force and felt one of the discarded weapons push against my throat. "We have orders."
"We?" I asked, reaching up to the floating blade and pushing it down with my hand. "I didn't think we'd be on another mission so soon."
A deep laugh rung out. "Eighth Brother will be there, to supervise you."
"And to make sure you don't kill me." I added. The smell and screams of Fifth Brother cursing me as he burned alive was another memory I would rather not repeat. A short mission that should have been routine had spiraled into chaos, all thanks to the remnants of Kota’s militia.
The so-called “Kota’s Kutters” were a ragtag group of idealists, clinging to the hope that their leader was still alive. They had taken over an asteroid mining facility, threatening to blow it sky-high unless the Empire released their imprisoned comrades.
Negotiation was pointless—idealists rarely listened to reason. But we had been sent anyway, tasked with resolving the situation as quickly and cleanly as possible. Too dangerous for senators and yet important enough to send us it seemed.
Things fell apart almost immediately. The Kutters opened fire the moment we set foot in the facility, their desperation fueling their recklessness. The firefight was chaotic, a blur of blaster bolts and shouted orders.
I remembered the explosion vividly. A stray deflection from my own blade had struck a barrel of fuel, setting off a chain reaction that ripped through the facility. The Fifth Brother had been caught in the blast, his armor scorched and his face scarred.
We eliminated the Kutters, of course. But at a cost. Half the facility was destroyed, and the Fifth Brother’s injuries had left him seething with resentment while floating in the bacta tanks.
"That too, though I suppose..." he trailed off, walking forwards with dangerous intent. The Dark Side gathered around him, fueling his speed.
"Why wait?" I desperately wanted to roll my eyes at him, but he wouldn't be able to see it through the helmet I wore. Always predictable, these Inquisitors. I floated a few pieces of broken droids up from the ground. At least I get to test his strength.
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Location: Malastare Airspace
The shuttle trembled as it cut through the dense atmosphere of Malastare, leaving a faint vibration beneath my boots. The air inside was stifling, and the tension felt even heavier. Somewhere beyond the metal hull, I caught the faint roar of podracing engines in the distance. The sound tugged at something deep inside me—a memory buried under layers of who I had become.
I shifted in my seat, trying to focus. Nostalgia was a distraction I couldn’t afford. Not here.
Fifth Brother unbuckled his harness with a grunt, the metallic clink echoing through the cramped cabin. He stood, towering over both of us. Even without seeing his face, I could feel his perpetual irritation radiating through the Force.
“Another miserable rock,” he muttered. “Let’s hope this one doesn’t waste our time.”
I adjusted my gauntlet, my fingers flexing as the leather creaked. “It won’t. We’ll handle it quickly.”
Eighth Brother remained leaning against the bulkhead, arms crossed, helmet tilted slightly as if he were examining me through the visor. He was always unnervingly still when we traveled—a predator waiting for the right moment to strike. His voice finally crackled through the comms in his helmet.
“Quick? I doubt it.” His tone was dry. “Word is the kid’s slippery. Force-sensitive and reckless. Sounds like fun.”
I shifted uncomfortably at the mention of the Force-sensitive thief. The boy reminded me too much of stories I’d heard back in the days of the Republic. Too much of someone else entirely.
“Sounds like an Ezra wannabe,” I mumbled under my breath, barely loud enough to register.
The reaction was immediate. Eighth Brother tilted his head sharply, his helmet locking on me. “What was that?”
I waved it off. “Nothing. Just thinking out loud.”
The cabin filled with silence again, broken only by the hum of the shuttle’s engines. Fifth Brother adjusted his belt, casting a sidelong glance at both of us. His deep voice rumbled with amusement.
“The report said the kid’s been causing problems. More trouble than he’s worth.” He stepped toward the ramp, preparing for landing. “Let’s not drag this out.”
Eighth Brother’s voice crackled again. “Podracing qualifiers are today. We could wrap up the job fast, catch a race or two.”
I hesitated. The thought stirred something inside me, even though I knew better. I could still feel the echoes of those arcade games—the laughter, the joy of losing myself in something that felt real. I shook my head, trying to bury it.
Stolen story; please report.
Fifth Brother snorted as the shuttle’s ramp hissed open, releasing a blast of hot, acrid air. “We could go catch a race after the mission. Assuming this job doesn’t drag out.”
"You're just parroting each other now. Come on, we can't do that." I chastised, irritation building.
Eighth Brother turned his helmeted gaze back to me. I could feel his amusement without seeing his face.
“We could get you in a pod, Fourteen. Now that would be a sight.”
I almost laughed. Almost. I don't like it when people push the same ideas again and again. I just wanted the job to be done and over with.
Instead, I settled for a wry smile that no one could see behind my own helmet. “I’d… well, I wouldn’t mind trying.”
Eighth Brother tilted his head, intrigued. “Really? Didn’t think you’d go for it.”
I shrugged, keeping my tone casual. “I had friends who raced. Wouldn’t be the first time behind a pod.”
It was a half-truth. An arcade machine wasn’t the same as the real deal, but they didn’t need to know that.
Eighth Brother chuckled, a low, distorted sound through his comms. “Friends, huh? Funny, I don’t picture you with friends.”
I ignored the jab, stepping off the ramp and onto the landing pad. The smells of Malastare hit me all at once—burnt fuel, scorched metal, the tang of dust and oil hanging in the air. But beneath it all, I could still hear the distant roar of engines, pulling at that old ache.
Fifth Brother’s heavy boots thudded on the permacrete as he joined me. He glanced around the bustling spaceport, his hand resting on the hilt of his lightsaber.
“Enough chatter. We have a target.”
Eighth Brother followed, his presence looming behind me like a shadow. His tone was still laced with amusement. “Still, it would be something to see you behind a podracer, Fourteen. Maybe you’d win us some extra credits.”
“I’m not here to race,” I replied, shaking off the lingering memory. “Let’s focus.”
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We crossed the landing pad and made our way toward the city gates, where a small detachment of local security waited for us. Their captain, a middle-aged human with a weathered face and tired eyes, stepped forward to greet us. His uniform was spotless, but his posture betrayed the nervous energy beneath his stoic expression.
“Inquisitors,” he began with a formal bow. “Captain Loraas of Hindrazo Security.”
Fifth Brother loomed over the man, his presence alone enough to make the captain visibly uneasy. “You have a problem. We’re here to fix it. Brief us.”
“Yes, sir.” Loraas cleared his throat. “There have been several incidents over the past few weeks. A young boy, Force-sensitive, has been stealing from vendors and supply depots across the city. He’s quick, clever, and… elusive.”
“How elusive?” Eighth Brother asked, tilting his helmeted head. “We’re not chasing ghosts here.”
Loraas gestured toward a nearby speeder. “I’ve mapped out the crime scenes. If you’ll follow me, I can take you to the most recent one.”
We piled into the speeder, with Loraas at the controls. The vehicle hummed to life, gliding through the bustling streets of Hindrazo. I leaned back, letting my senses extend outward. The city was a chaotic mess of life and movement, but beneath the noise, I could feel the faint echo of something familiar—fear and excitement, mixed together like paint on a canvas.
The first stop was an electronics shop near the market district. Its front window was shattered, and shelves had been overturned, their contents scattered across the floor.
“This is where he hit last night,” Loraas explained, stepping out of the speeder. “He took credits and equipment. Left no trace.”
I knelt by the broken glass, running my fingers over the shards. The Force whispered to me, fragments of the past lingering in the air like echoes. Shapes and flickers of light began to form in my mind—a boy, small and nervous, darting between the shelves. His hands trembled as he grabbed whatever he could, but with each theft, his fear faded, replaced by a growing sense of confidence.
“He was afraid at first,” I murmured, rising to my feet. “He was trembling. Then he got confident, and hopefully he'll get cocky and slip up.”
“Idiots like him always do,” Fifth Brother muttered.
Eighth Brother crouched beside me, watching intently. “What else do you see?”
I pressed my senses to the overturned shelves and scattered equipment. Something didn’t sit right with me. I stepped toward one of the shattered display cases, picking up a broken datapad. "What kind of electronics does this shop sell?"
Loraas, standing a few paces behind, cleared his throat. "Mostly low-end comms and datapads, sir. Things that local vendors and mechanics would use."
"And what was stolen?" I pressed, my voice measured.
The captain shifted uncomfortably. "Credits, mostly. A few high-quality comm units. The thief seems to know what’s valuable."
I turned the datapad over in my hands, running my thumb along the cracked screen. The Force buzzed faintly through it—a lingering trace of the boy’s frantic energy. "High-end comm units, you said. He’s not just grabbing at random. He’s picking items with purpose."
Eighth Brother straightened. "Maybe he’s working for someone. A black market dealer, perhaps."
I shook my head. "No, this is personal. He’s choosing things that keep him mobile. Portable tech, comms, credits. He’s on the move, staying ahead of us."
Fifth Brother grunted, clearly growing impatient. "Enough guessing. The trail’s still fresh. Let’s follow it before it goes cold."
I closed my eyes, letting the Force guide me further. The boy’s presence lingered like a trail of ink, leading from the shattered window down the street.
I pointed down the street. "He went this way."
Captain Loraas frowned, glancing between me and the direction I indicated. "How do you know?"
I turned to face him, tilting my head slightly. "I can feel it. The Force leaves impressions—echoes of what’s happened. The boy’s presence lingers, like a rank stench floating around." I let my words hang in the air for a moment, watching his unease grow before adding, "We should check the other spots he hit first. I want a better idea of what he’s trying to do."
Loraas nodded hesitantly, gesturing toward the speeder. "Very well, Inquisitor. We’ll follow your lead."
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We followed the trail through Hindrazo, visiting several more crime scenes along the way. The boy’s movements were erratic at first, leading us to an odd assortment of shops: a bakery, an electronics store, a toy vendor, and even a small food stall on the corner of a bustling street. As we pieced together the timeline, a clearer picture began to emerge—this wasn't the work of a hardened criminal, but something more chaotic, almost playful.
At the electronics store, security footage showed the boy slipping inside unnoticed before the break-in alarm was triggered. He moved quickly through the aisles, grabbing comm units and datapads before making his escape. But at the toy vendor, the theft had a strange twist. The shopkeeper showed us a hologram of the boy holding a small, brightly colored droid.
“He just took it,” the Rodian vendor muttered. “Didn’t even break anything. Used some trick to make me hand it over willingly. I barely even remember it.”
I frowned. “A mind trick?”
The vendor nodded slowly. “It must have been. All I remember is him saying, ‘You don’t need this sale.’ And I agreed.”
Eighth Brother chuckled. “A Force-sensitive kid using mind tricks to steal toys. That’s a first.”
“It’s reckless,” I said quietly, focusing on the hologram. The boy’s face was partially obscured, but his expression was one of fascination as he examined the droid in his hands. There was no malice, just a child’s curiosity.
The bakery was next. By the time we reached it, the trail was practically glowing in my mind. The elderly Twi’lek shopkeeper wrung her hands nervously as she recounted the robbery.
“He… he came out of nowhere,” she stammered. “I was closing up, and suddenly he was there. He grabbed the credits and some bread and vanished before I could even react.”
I placed a hand on the counter, feeling the vibrations of the past. The boy’s fear was gone, replaced by a thrill of power, but there was also something else—hunger. Desperation.
“He’s not just taking valuables,” I murmured. “He’s taking what he needs to survive. Food. Toys. Comms to stay mobile.”
Fifth Brother straightened, his hand resting on his hip. “Then let’s end this.”
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Location: Malastare - Jodis District
The trail led us to a run-down apartment complex near the spaceport. The building loomed over the street, its exterior worn and covered in grime, with rust streaking down the walls like scars. The faint scent of burning oil mixed with the distant hum of starship engines, creating an oppressive atmosphere. I could feel the boy’s presence inside—a nervous, jittery energy radiating from one of the upper floors. The place was old, decayed, and the peeling paint on the walls made it clear that no one here cared to keep up appearances.
“Fifth Brother, take the front entrance,” I ordered. “Eighth Brother, with me. We’ll go in from the side.”
Fifth Brother grunted in acknowledgment, stomping his way to the main door with a lumbering, deliberate gait. His hostility wasn’t new—he never missed an opportunity to assert dominance. I could feel his irritation simmering in the Force, aimed squarely at me. The way he carried himself, the way he lingered on his threats, it was always the same message: you don’t belong here.
Eighth Brother and I made our way around the back, scaling the rusted fence with ease. Security cameras dotted the perimeter, their lenses cracked or coated in grime. Not that it mattered. We didn’t care if we were seen. Our affiliation with the Empire granted us immunity from such concerns. The weak didn’t question the strong.
The complex’s central pathway was eerily quiet. Overgrown grass pushed through the cracks in the permacrete, swaying gently in the breeze. The air was thick with dust and the faint scent of mildew, clinging to the walls like a stubborn stain. A flickering light overhead cast dim shadows, making the building feel even more abandoned than it already was.
I pushed my senses to their limit, feeling every pulse of life, every whisper of movement. The world became a canvas of light and shadow, shapes forming from the Force’s touch. The boy’s footsteps were like ink spots on the canvas, leading us upward.
“When we get to the target, no killing or maiming, got it?” I glanced at Eighth Brother, who rolled his eyes beneath his helmet.
“That just ruins the fun.”
His hostility was more subtle than Fifth Brother’s, but it was there. Always there. I ignored him, focusing on the task at hand. As we reached the third floor, a noise behind me made me pause.
Fifth Brother had followed us after all, his heavy footsteps echoing in the stairwell. He loomed at the edge of my vision, his hand resting on his lightsaber hilt.
“You weren’t supposed to follow,” I said flatly.
“I don’t take orders from you.”
Eighth Brother stepped between us, his tone sharp. “Enough. Fifth, you take the front. Now.”
Fifth Brother scowled but didn’t argue. With a sneer, he turned and stomped back down the stairs. His presence lingered in the Force, like a storm cloud waiting to break.
“Let’s get this done,” Eighth Brother muttered.
We approached Building N681. I removed my helmet and passed it to Eighth Brother. The cool air brushed against my skin, a stark contrast to the heated tension between us. Best to approach the boy civilly, without the mechanical modulation distorting my voice.
I gently tapped on the apartment door. Inside, I felt the boy freeze, his fear spiking like a lightning bolt through the Force. He wasn’t expecting visitors. His emotions were erratic—fear, anger, and defiance all swirling together.
Without warning, blaster bolts tore through the door, the first shot grazing my arm. I ducked, the rest of the shots narrowly missing my head. The Force warned me just in time, my reflexes saving me from a fatal hit.
“Blast it!” Eighth Brother growled, igniting his saber. The crimson glow illuminated the hallway, casting long, twisted shadows.
I reached out with the Force, blasting the door off its hinges. The boy inside scrambled backward, his blaster shaking in his hands. His wide eyes darted between us, his grip tightening in desperation.
He fired at the window, shattering the glass before leaping through.
“Idiot,” I muttered, extending my hand. The boy froze midair, suspended by the Force. He twisted and writhed, firing wild shots at us as he dangled above the alleyway.
“Let me go!” he screamed, panic rising in his voice.
The blaster fire was frantic and wild, but one shot skimmed Eighth Brother’s shoulder, sending a shower of sparks flying.
Eighth Brother snarled. “Enough of this!” He raised his lightsaber, ready to finish the boy.
“No.” I dropped to the ground below, slowing my descent with a controlled burst of the Force. Landing smoothly, I stepped toward the boy. His blaster fell from his grasp, clattering to the ground.
I yanked the weapon into my hand with the Force and switched it to stun. One precise shot, and the boy crumpled to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut.
Eighth Brother joined me a moment later, rubbing his shoulder where the shot had hit.
“You always make things so dramatic,” he said, his tone laced with irritation.
I ignored him, kneeling beside the unconscious boy. “Tell the big guy we’ve got a new recruit. Vader will be pleased.”