A Living Nightmare
Chapter 8: Inquisitive Inquisitors
"Who is more foolish? The fool or the fool who follows him?"
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Location: Nar Shaddaa- Iddo’s Reach
As Katari Naju walked into the dimly lit interrogation room, her eyes were immediately drawn to the prisoner—the weequay, Dodrias Benzik. His leathery skin bore the marks of Farrkus's methods: bruises, cuts, and blood—the result of the agent’s crude attempts at extracting information. Benzik hung suspended by chains, his head drooped forward as if in resignation, but she knew better. The spark in his eyes, barely visible beneath heavy eyelids, gave him away. He wasn't broken. Not yet.
Farrkus straightened, his expression a mix of relief and formality. "Inquisitors," he greeted, stepping forward. "It's a pleasure to meet you in person. I appreciate your assistance in this matter. We've had… limited success in extracting information from our guest."
A quick sideways glance at the 14th Brother, Agent Farrkus’s other guest, deepened her sense of disdain. Katari, the 7th Sister, was used to the unsettling presence of her fellow Inquisitors, but there was something about the half breed Miralukan that unnerved her. His movements were too mechanical—like a droid mimicking a human—yet his touch of the Force was eerily effortless. Miralukans, a rare and endangered species, were born without physical eyes but saw through the Force itself, giving them a heightened, almost supernatural connection to its flow. It wasn't just sight—it was an intimate understanding of their surroundings that went beyond what most species could comprehend. His Force sight, devoid of normal eyes, allowed him to see in a way she never could. She envied that connection, the constant awareness that was just out of reach for her.
He was already using it. She could feel it—his consciousness slithering out, probing the weequay's mind while she and the agent spoke. His mechanical efficiency grated against her patience. There was an elegance, a brutality, in breaking someone slowly, breaking down their defenses piece by piece, but the 14th Brother seemed to rush—seeking shortcuts, lacking her appreciation for the process. It made her irritation simmer beneath her composed exterior.
"What have you learned so far?" Katari asked curtly, her tone clipped as she circled Benzik. She studied him—his body, his demeanor—like a predator assessing its prey before the kill.
"Not much," Farrkus admitted, gesturing weakly toward the weequay. "He's been resistant to all of our usual methods—even the more extreme ones. He’s proven to be more stubborn than anticipated."
Katari's patience thinned as she clasped her hands behind her back, her irritation simmering beneath the surface. Agent Farrkus's own frustration hung in the air—the incompetence of these Imperials was infuriating. She paused in front of Benzik, tilting her head slightly, considering her next move. The prisoner looked up at her, his eyes unfocused, but she could feel something more. Resilience. A flicker of defiance.
She found herself growing increasingly annoyed as the Imperial Agent droned on, elaborating more on the interrogation specifics than necessary. It was something she could view herself with holo recordings, but she allowed the man to prattle on—it kept him busy while she assessed the situation herself.
The 14th Brother was silent, still at her side, his presence a heavy reminder of their uneasy partnership. Katari turned her head to find him standing motionless, the eyeless gaze of his helmet fixed on Benzik. She knew what he was doing without needing to see it—his consciousness, touching, feeling, prying. His attempts were brutish, unsubtle, but they were working. She could feel the struggle, the push and pull in the Force.
Her one sided conversation with Farrkus faltered, her focus slipping as she sensed the 14th Brother’s progress. There was something almost grotesque in the ease with which he slipped into Benzik's mind—like a blade sliding between ribs, finding the weak point. The 14th Brother operated with an unnerving level of calm, tapping into Benzik's thoughts with a precision that made her uncomfortable. She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy at how natural it seemed for him. Like he had done it before.
She allowed herself a moment of amusement, her lips curling beneath her mask. The 14th Brother's methods might be crude, but they were effective. He was sifting through the jumble of memories, digging deeper, and she could feel the ripples—the surface thoughts bubbling to the front, disjointed and chaotic.
Flashes of card games, violence, indulgence. Useless distractions. Katari watched the weequay's face, the slack expression as he succumbed to the mental pressure, the way his body tensed as the 14th Brother pushed deeper. She sensed something—a hesitation in the weequay’s thoughts, a place where his mind refused to let the 14th Brother through. She frowned beneath her mask.
The 14th Brother stepped forward, his voice low and calm. "He's not just physically resilient," he said, his voice firm. "He's been trained to resist mental probing. There's something more going on here."
Farrkus frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Trained?"
Katari let the silence linger for a moment. Farrkus’s eyes flicked between the two Inquisitors, confusion evident. The agent wasn’t used to the Force, to the subtleties of mental invasion and resistance. He wanted answers, and he wanted them now.
The 7th Sister took a deliberate step forward, leaning in close to the prisoner, her presence palpable. She wanted him to feel the weight of her patience—the knowledge that she had time, but he didn’t.
The weequay’s eyes flicked, and Katari could feel his mind resisting—walls built not by strength of will alone, but by knowledge of what they were capable of. He feared her, yes, but there was something more.
The 14th Brother's voice cut through the tension. “A Jedi,” he said, his words hanging in the air, rich with implication. Farrkus's eyes widened, and Katari could feel the shock ripple through him. "There's a Jedi involved."
The 14th Brother's expressionless helmet turned towards her, his presence in the Force curious. She straightened, crossing her arms. There was something exhilarating about those words, the promise of a worthy hunt, something beyond this grimy room, beyond this sorry excuse of a planet.
“We’ll need to proceed carefully,” she said, her tone a little lighter, betraying a hint of eagerness. Finally, something interesting.
Location: Nar Shadda- Zalrio Plaza
“They really don’t even have a Viper droid to spare?” I muttered, half in disbelief.
I weaved through the crowd, slipping between the shoulders of two passersby. The market thrummed with life, the vibrant energy of Zalrio Plaza resonating through the Force in pulses of sound and shifting color. Most of the time, Imperials were given a wide berth; people preferred to avoid unnecessary entanglements with the Empire. But Zalrio Plaza was unlike anywhere else. It was the beating heart of Vexcron—a sensory explosion of light, color, and sound, each element woven into a chaotic symphony that reverberated through the Force. Traders bustled, their presence glowing like distinct flames in the hazy, overlapping waves of noise and activity. Traders from all corners of the galaxy flocked here, their stalls overflowing with exotic goods—rare spices, gleaming trinkets, and even contraband that teetered on the edge of legality. The relentless noise formed a symphony of commerce: vibrations that rang through the Force as if a thousand bells were being struck in unison, resonant and alive. The haggling, the bark of traders, and the whispered deals took on hues of deep crimson and golden yellows, the colors flaring with the emotions behind them. In this bustling hub, the Imperials were just another curiosity, something to be mocked, not feared. To the locals, we were simply visitors, something to be stared at and mocked behind our backs. And honestly, with the pathetically small budget the ISB and local Imperials had, I could understand their jokes.
Even though I was part of their military structure, I was an outsider being brought in for specific tasks, and the cracks in the local operation were glaring. The fact that a branch of an Imperial intelligence agency lacked the resources for a simple probe droid baffled me. A Viper droid wasn't just a surveillance tool—it was practically indispensable for any mission of significant risk. The very idea that we didn’t have one made our presence feel more ridiculous than formidable.
“The branch did have one, until it was stolen,” the 7th Sister clarified, sauntering ahead and pushing through the throngs just as effortlessly as I did. Her voice crackled faintly in my ear, transmitted through the commlinks in our helmets—a necessary precaution to avoid the ever-attentive ears of Zalrio Plaza.
I wasn’t even surprised. This planet was crawling with thieves and opportunists, and the level of negligence within the Empire never ceased to amaze me. My curiosity, though, was piqued. Who could possibly have a fifty-million-credit droid floating around, doing who knows what? The Viper droid was sophisticated beyond belief—sensors, appendages, processing power that could rival some planetary surveillance networks. I didn’t know whether to be impressed by the thief’s skill or disappointed by the incompetence on our side that let this happen. Probably both.
“So, the last time you were here...” I began, changing the subject. There was no point in dwelling on failures that weren’t mine to fix. “Uh, find any good food spots?”
All the scents wafting through the air were getting to me. Even through the helmet's filters, I could pick out the smells of grilling meat, tangy spices, and something sweet that made my empty stomach twist with hunger. I needed something—something spicy, something that could light up my senses. But we were on the hunt, and detours were frowned upon by… well, by everyone above me, which was practically everyone.
“I know of a few,” she said, dodging a large droid hauling a magnetic cart behind it. “Just not on this part of the planet.” She paused for a moment, considering. “There may be a place nearby where we could get some Dilinari noodles.”
I fought to keep my irritation in check. Dilinari—sentient beings from the planet Vorgesh, way out in the Outer Rim. Tall, clear-skinned, their veins bioluminescent and visible beneath the surface. Hunted for their skin, their blood—it was a practice that made my stomach churn. The 7th Sister, though, she was a fan. The first time we had partnered up, she’d tried to get me to sample what she called “Dili delicacies”—her tone teasing, almost daring me to confront her about it.
“Pass,” I said curtly. “Anything that’s not an endangered species?”
“Endangered depends on one’s perspective,” she shot back, a grin evident in her voice. She had a way of making you picture her smirk, even when her face was hidden. “But fine. I suppose you’re in luck—there’s a stall up ahead that sells Zeltron wraps.”
I perked up slightly at that. Zeltron food was decent—flavorful, spicy, with just the right kick of sweetness. It wasn’t exactly field rations, and that alone was a victory worth savoring.
We moved through the crowd in Zalrio Plaza, the din of the district rising and falling in waves that shimmered in the Force—shouts of vendors, humming repulsorlift engines, and the clatter of goods merged together in a prismatic dance of sound and sensation. A blur of overlapping colors surrounded us—bright streaks of emotion and intention that flowed through the Force, each individual radiating with their own light. The stalls, the neon signs, the people—all melded together in a dynamic tapestry, the colors shifting as their moods ebbed and flowed. I caught sight of a Rodian haggling with a vendor over some glittering trinkets, a group of humans gathered around a Sabaac table, the sharp, synthetic laughter of a protocol droid echoing from somewhere to my left.
The 7th Sister moved with purpose, her stride confident, cutting through the masses without hesitation. I followed, doing my best to match her pace, but also to take in everything around me. This place was a maze—one wrong turn and we’d be lost in a warren of back alleys and dead ends. But that was also part of its charm—a place like this, you could disappear if you needed to. You could be anyone, or no one at all.
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“There,” she said, pointing ahead. A stall with a faded red awning, steam rising from a wide metal griddle, the vendor—a tall, lanky Twi’lek—flipping something that looked promising.
We approached, and the vendor eyed us warily, his gaze lingering on our armor for a beat too long before he forced a smile. “Imperials,” he greeted, his voice smooth, practiced. “What can I get for you today?”
“Two wraps,” the 7th Sister said, her tone curt. “Extra spice.”
The Twi’lek nodded, moving quickly to prepare our order. I watched as he worked, my stomach growling in anticipation.
The 7th Sister turned her gaze toward me, her curiosity palpable. "You've always got that calm, detached thing going on. What exactly are you doing with the Force right now?"
I paused for a moment, caught off guard by her sudden probing. "Just keeping an eye out," I replied vaguely. I reached out through the Force, trying to sense any danger lurking in the chaotic energy of Zalrio Plaza. The movement and flow of the crowd made it difficult—emotions clashed, interwove, and shifted constantly, their intensity sometimes overwhelming. The ebb and flow of light and sound was like trying to see through a storm, each flicker of unease or spike of tension almost instantly drowned out by the relentless tide of activity.
She frowned beneath her mask, clearly not satisfied. "Keeping aware? What's it like to be Miralukan? To see like you do?"
Her question genuinely surprised me, and I hesitated. I had never really thought about being something other than a human. I had bought into the Admiral's story about the supposed bomb, too preoccupied with just staying alive to question it. But now, with everything calming down, I could finally piece it together. The way I sensed things others couldn't—the impressions, the flow of emotions, the unseen dangers—it all started to click into place. "I had no idea," I admitted, my voice quieter than usual. "But it makes sense now. The way I see the Force… it's like an endless ocean of light, sound, and color. Everything has a rhythm, a glow, and I see it all. The Force is alive, weaving through everything around us."
The 7th Sister tilted her head slightly, a mocking edge creeping into her voice. "You sound like Yoda."
I gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "A wise man once said, to defeat your enemy you must know them."
She scoffed, turning her attention back to the vendor as he worked on making our wraps.
"We have to find our enemy first." She gestured subtly to her right. "We've had tails since we entered the plaza. See those two? The Aqualish by the droid parts stall."
I shifted my gaze slightly, letting my senses reach out. Two individuals stood a few stalls over, their presence buzzing with nervous energy. They were looking through droid parts, but their attention kept flicking towards us. Their emotions were a mix of fear and determination, not unlike our weequay friend back at the base.
"Let them watch. I'm kriffing starving." A small smile tugged at my lips beneath the mask. It felt oddly satisfying to use those curse words and have them actually make sense to the people around me.
For a moment, just a moment, I allowed myself to forget where I was—forget the mission, the stolen droid, the weight of Imperial bureaucracy. For now, there was just the smell of cooking food, the warmth of the griddle, the promise of something that might, if only briefly, make everything else fade into the background. It reminded me of home, going to a local market with my brother. Chatting up a barkeep, drinking something and eating something better, all while the sights, sounds, and emotions of the market melded together in a comforting blur, a respite from everything else.
It didn't take much longer for the vendor to finish making the wraps. I took off my helmet, placing it on the bar. It crossed my mind to ask the Twi'lek if that was okay, but I figured he valued his business—and his life—more than arguing about where I put it.
I took a bite of the Zeltron wrap, the spice hitting me almost instantly—a combination of heat and flavor that had my senses lighting up. The wrap itself was chewy, the bread almost gummy in texture, clinging to the juices of the meat. It was a type of meat I couldn't quite identify—alien, gamey, perhaps kath hound if I had to guess. It was savory, with just enough spice to make it interesting, a satisfying contrast to the sweetness of the sauce that lingered on my tongue.
"How do you want to proceed?" I asked, glancing at the 7th Sister as I finished my last bite. She had her probe droids hovering above, and I knew she had a plan forming.
"We let them follow us," she replied, her eyes narrowing. "The droids are watching them. We'll lead them away from the crowd."
We stood up, leaving our empty wrappers on the stall. I could feel the presence of the two Aqualish intensify as they trailed us from a distance. Their nervousness hummed through the Force, a jittery tension that suggested they were unsure of their next move. I caught the animalistic calls they exchanged between themselves, the guttural language sounding wary and excited all at once.
The 7th Sister led us through the plaza, her movements smooth and deliberate, as though she were simply wandering without a purpose. The crowd began to thin as we moved towards a quieter section of the district, the noise fading until we slipped into a dim alleyway. The two Aqualish hesitated, but they followed.
"They have blasters," the 7th Sister said, her voice calm over the commlink in my helmet. I could feel her confidence, her anticipation. I nodded, unclipping my lightsaber from its back holster and turning to face the two aliens.
"Okay, what do you two meatbags want?" I asked, igniting my lightsaber. The crimson blade hummed to life, casting flickering red light against the walls of the narrow alley.
One of the Aqualish raised his hands, his words prompting the auto translator in my helmet to kick in. "We come with bargain! Yes, a bargain. Information, for friend?" The voice was soothing, synthetic and a little too loud for my tastes.
The 7th Sister tilted her head, her gaze sharp. "A bargain? You want your friend back, what for?" Her hands rested on her hips, and one of her probe droids landed on her shoulder. Another perched on one of the Aqualish's shoulders, a silent warning.
The alien stammered, his voice nervous. "We know bad friends of friend!"
I narrowed my eyes, extinguishing my lightsaber but keeping it in hand. "You know where these insurgents are? Why not just tell Grakkus? He's assisting the investigation as it is."
The two exchanged glances, and I resisted the urge to sigh. They shared one brain cell, it seemed.
"These guys are idiots. Wanna just waste them?" I muttered over the comm. I did feel a little hankering for violence, but I knew better than to just burn up a lead. There was something else I was missing, I could feel it.
"No," the 7th Sister replied, her voice holding a hint of amusement. "They have markings on them, the same markings that Dodrias had tattooed." She reminded me why she was here to be my physical eyes—details like that were things I simply could not see.
"Oh. Huh. Well, why not just make a copy and slip in?" I suggested. The silence lingered for a beat as she considered the idea, her probe droids shifting restlessly on the Aqualish's shoulders.
"That... may work," she finally said, her tone holding a note of approval. A smile formed beneath her mask. She turned her attention to the aliens, her voice commanding. "You two. We will give you your friend, and you will get another friend to take with you. In return, you will be well compensated for your help."
The Aqualish exchanged glances, clearly unsure, but too afraid to refuse.
I clipped my saber back into the harness on my back. Sure, I could play the bad guy, but going undercover on my first mission? Kriffing hell.
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Some days later
The Aqualish led the way through the narrow alleys of Nar Shaddaa, their pace quick, heads constantly swiveling as they kept watch for any prying eyes. I followed closely, my mind drifting between what was about to happen and how I'd ended up here—going undercover as a member of a gang called the Kutters. It wasn't exactly what I expected from my first mission with the 7th Sister, but I had to admit, it held a certain allure. An opportunity to test myself.
Dodrias walked beside me, his eyes vacant, the recent mind wipe having erased everything related to his interrogation and our encounter. It was unnerving to see him like this—hollow, lacking the fire he once had. He stumbled occasionally, and I nudged him forward, pretending to be a fellow gang member rather than his captor. The two Aqualish ahead were talking to each other in their guttural language, but I didn't need the auto translator to know they were nervous. The tension bled off them, rippling through the Force like a jittery, unpredictable wave.
We reached an old, rusted warehouse near the outskirts of Zalrio Plaza. Its exterior bore the scars of years of neglect, the metal plating peeling and pocked with rust. It was perfect for a gang hideout—secluded, hidden in plain sight. One of the Aqualish, the taller of the two, rapped a specific pattern on the side door. A small viewport slid open, revealing the eyes of a guard. There was a momentary exchange in Huttese and Aqualish, and I kept my expression neutral, using the Force to subtly glean the guard's mood—cautious but not alarmed. After a tense beat, the door slid open with a metallic groan.
The interior was dim, the air thick with the scent of engine oil and something acrid, like burnt plastic. My senses were bombarded with an overwhelming amount of noise—conversations overlapping, machines buzzing, footsteps echoing against the metal floor. It all painted a vivid picture through the Force—an impression of organized chaos. I allowed my presence to blend into the environment, not hiding, but not standing out either. The Aqualish gestured for me to follow as we were led deeper into the hideout.
A gathering of Kutters lounged in a spacious area filled with crates, some sitting on them, others leaning against the walls. The gang was a rough-looking group—various species, from humans to Rodians to a Wookie. Most wore mismatched armor and weapons strapped to their belts, their collective gaze locking onto me and Dodrias as we entered. The murmurs began almost immediately, suspicion and curiosity mixing in equal measure. I felt the scrutiny—a hundred different emotions pricking at my awareness. But I kept my demeanor composed, confident.
"Who’s this?" a human male demanded, stepping forward. His eyes narrowed, taking me in. He was tall, heavily scarred, his head shaved clean. The leader, or at least someone important—his confidence was palpable, his presence demanding attention.
The taller Aqualish stepped up, bowing his head slightly. "This is... new recruit. He comes with information. Friend Dodrias—he knows much, but he was taken." He glanced back at Dodrias, whose vacant stare drew a few chuckles from the gathered gang members. "We got him back. We bring new friend too."
I took a step forward, locking eyes with the human. "Name's Han. Dodrias here, he got picked up by some Imps same as me. I helped get him out. Figured the Kutters might appreciate the favor." My voice was calm, steady, carrying a subtle hint of authority. The contacts ISB gave me were supposed to help color my eyes, dim them to a silvery blue.
The leader eyed me for a long moment, his gaze hard. I could feel him assessing me, trying to decide whether I was worth the trouble. I kept my expression neutral, letting him see what I wanted him to see—determination, a hint of arrogance, but not too much. Just enough to suggest I was confident, but not stupid.
"One sec. Just need to get word from the boss."
The man left, going out from my perceptions. The room tensed further, the quiet maddening. I wanted so badly to push my senses to where the man went, that Jedi was there, or someone higher up the chain.
After what felt like an eternity of silence, the man gave a nod as he walked back into the room. "Alright, Han. You’re in. But you screw up, and we’ll make sure you regret it." He jerked his head toward a cluster of crates. "Take Benzik over there. We’ve got some questions for him."
I nodded, nudging the weequay forward as we moved to the side. The tension in the room relaxed slightly, the gathered gang members going back to their conversations. But I could feel the attention lingering—eyes watching, waiting for me to slip up.
We settled Dodrias on a crate, and I leaned against the wall, letting my senses expand. I had to be careful—one wrong move and this would all come crashing down. I felt the ebb and flow of the emotions around me—wary, distrustful, some curious. The key was to stay just involved enough to blend in without drawing too much attention. The 7th Sister had taught me that—observe, learn, and act when the time is right.
A few minutes later, the leader returned, his expression grim. He gestured to Dodrias. "We need to know what he knows. You said you helped him get away from the Imps. What were they asking about?"
I pretended to consider the question, glancing at Dodrias. His mind was a blank slate—the 7th Sister had seen to that. I looked back at the leader. "They wanted information on a shipment. Weapons, maybe tech—something valuable. Tough bastard wouldn’t talk, so they roughed him up pretty good."
The leader grunted, his gaze shifting to Dodrias, a mixture of disdain and grudging respect in his eyes. "Tough bastard is kriffin right. Alright, Han. You stick around. We might have work for you soon."
I nodded, keeping my expression neutral. "Got it."
As he walked away, I allowed myself a small breath of relief. I was in—for now. But I knew better than to think the hard part was over. This was only the beginning. I needed to find out what the Kutters knew—about the Jedi, about their operations. I had to play the long game, gain their trust, and feed information back to the 7th Sister. And all the while, I had to keep Dodrias safe enough that he didn't become a liability.
The warehouse bustled with activity—a mix of conversations, deals being struck, equipment being repaired. I observed from my position by the wall, my senses drifting through the symphony of energy, picking up snippets of conversation, hints of what lay beneath the surface. The Force was alive here—a web of intentions and actions, a constantly shifting tide of energy. And I was in the midst of it, trying to find the thread that would lead me to what I needed.
"Han," one of the Aqualish called out, gesturing me over to a group huddled by the far wall. I pushed off the wall, making my way over, keeping my posture relaxed, my demeanor calm. This was the game now—play my role, learn what I could, and wait for the right moment to act. And, above all else, not let on that I was anything other than what I claimed to be.
Undercover in a gang of criminals, with nothing but my wits, the Force, and a mind-wiped ally. Kriffing hell, indeed.