A Living Nightmare
Chapter 9: A Choice
“Feel the pull of the Dark Side. Embrace it, cast aside the failing Order my friends.”
----------------------------------------
Location: Nar Shaddaa- Iddo’s Reach
This was bad, really kriffing bad. Agent Farrkus ground his teeth, fighting the intense urge to unholster his blaster and unload a few rounds into the terminal both he and the 7th Sister were watching. One of the screens had shown a direct feed from one of her micro Viper droids, now completely cut off. Keeping his rage in check, the aging human looked to the technician at the terminal—her eyes wide with panic as she typed frantically.
"Is there anything?" he barked, one clenched hand gripping the back of the chair as he leaned in urgently to see the full array of screens. "Did that kid send anything usable?" He shot a quick, sidelong glance at the 7th Sister, hoping Katari would let his blatant disrespect slide during this moment of crisis. The entire operation had just been blown to space dust because of the young Inquisitor's bravado.
The technician—Corin-Jo, if he remembered correctly—was silent for a few moments, her hands moving rapidly as she scanned the computer system for the data being transmitted. It was nearly complete before everything went to hell. Agent Farrkus could only hope the 14th Brother had pulled through.
"I found it. There’s a lot here, but it will take some time for me to—"
"Move," growled the 7th Sister, stepping forward briskly, shoving Farrkus aside and pulling the chair out from under Corin-Jo. "I will find their target. Use your connections, Agent, and find a way to contact Number Fourteen."
Corin-Jo looked at her superior in shock, bewilderment clear on her bronzed features. Farrkus sighed and nodded. "Come on, Corin. Let her do as she wishes." He turned to the door, allowing Corin-Jo to pass through, leaving the two alone. "I doubt he’s alive if there’s a Jedi involved. To think I trusted the hunch of a—" His frustrations slipped through the composed facade he wore. Farrkus knew better than to let it happen, but something about this mission, about these two Inquisitors, felt wrong. It put him on edge.
A second interruption, again from the black-clad Inquisitor. His voice caught in his throat, the air around him thickened. "I would not dare finish that sentence, Farrkus." Her right arm was raised towards him, the binding grip of the Force holding Agent Farrkus in place and twisting threateningly around his larynx. "Be a good boy and do what I tell you," she intoned, purring with a saccharine tone as the invisible claw released him, allowing his lungs to be refreshed by the stagnant, recycled air of the ISB facility. Farrkus gave a small cough, but said nothing, and left Katari Naju to her task. She had to succeed, to make up for her partner's blunder. As she searched the scrambled data, breaking through encryptions, she drew upon the dark side, seeking his presence.
----------------------------------------
Location: Nar Shaddaa- Kutter Hideout
Five minutes earlier
I was fucking pumped. Two months. Two months of doing trivial bullshit—helping around the base, moving supplies, cargo, meeting with the guys who sell the cargo—making sure no one got ripped off during transactions and everyone kept their heads. The whole works. Just another guy in a moderately sized group of instigators. Little gigs here and there to gain their trust, doing my best to pretend I could see. Some had their doubts, but I made friends easily enough with Jorn and Vorn around to vouch for me. They were the two Aqualish who had tailed us in the plaza. Idiots, but likable. And great at cards.
I kept tabs on what I could, meeting with the 7th Sister and Agent Farrkus whenever possible. Two days ago, we devised a plan to use her probe droids to slice into the base's main computer. I had guard duty tonight with Jorn, Vorn, and Dodrias—who had his head back on straight and didn't remember anything after his capture. He was the wild card, but Jorn and Vorn were easy enough to get in on the plan.
It was Agent Farrkus who smelled the trap a mile away, and I agreed. It was a trap, plain and simple. Anyone managing a group this large knows better than to leave an entire "friend" group alone unless they expect them to screw up.
I crept through the dimly lit corridors of the Kutter hideout, my senses on high alert, adrenaline pumping through my veins. I moved silently, my breath steady as I listened for any sign of approaching footsteps. Jorn, Vorn, and Dodrias were covering for me, keeping an eye out. I felt a pang of guilt—they didn’t know what I was really up to. Not until I slipped into their minds, bending their will, convincing them to follow my orders without question. It wasn’t easy. Dodrias, in particular, had been difficult. He’d clutched his head in confusion as I pushed into his fractured mind—broken and pieced back together, it was like trying to bend an old, dried-out branch without snapping it.
Invading someone's mind was a strange, unsettling experience. It felt almost intimate, like touching the deepest parts of their being. Their thoughts, their emotions, their fears—all of it became malleable under my influence. I twisted it until they believed they wanted to help me, protect me. Power like that was intoxicating, raw, and left me feeling dirty. But it was necessary. I needed them to trust me, even if that newly twisted trust was nothing more than a fabrication.
The door to the main computer room loomed ahead. I glanced back to ensure no one was following. The coast was clear. I pulled out the key spoofer Dodrias had made, attaching it to the door's access panel. The device buzzed softly, lights flickering before the lock released with a soft chime.
"Pure pazaak." I whispered to myself, my nerves calming only a little. I wasn't sure if the spoofer would work or not, but it did.
The door slid open, and I slipped inside, closing it behind me.
The room was dark, lit only by the faint glow of the computer terminals along the far wall. I took a deep breath, moving to the shuttered window. The 7th Sister’s mini Viper probe droid was waiting outside. I used the Force to carefully lift the metal slats, just enough for the droid to slip inside. It hovered in front of me, its mechanical eye fixed on me before extending a tiny arm holding an earpiece.
I took it and placed it in my ear, the comm crackling to life. “Inquisitor,” Agent Farrkus's voice came through, tense and clipped. “Report.”
“I’m in,” I replied, keeping my voice low as I moved toward the computer terminal. The probe droid hovered beside me.
The 7th Sister’s voice followed, cold and impatient. “Make it quick. We don’t have time for mistakes.”
Farrkus cut in, his frustration evident. “I still think we should call this off. It’s too risky. If they know we’re here—”
“It’s too late for that,” I interrupted, sensing the droid move to the computer. “We’re six feet deep in this shit already. Pulling out now isn’t an option.”
I glanced at the droid as it began interfacing with the computer, data streams flashing across the screen. “Besides,” I continued, “something’s off about Dodrias. I don’t know what, but I don’t like it.”
A tense silence settled over the comms before Farrkus spoke again. “I don’t care. If you feel compromised, you need to get out.”
I was about to respond when the faint sound of speeders caught my attention. My pulse quickened as the unmistakable hum of repulsorlifts drew closer. They were landing outside, and my gut twisted in response.
“A few speeders just landed outside,” I whispered, my anxiety spiking. “I think we’ve got company.”
The 7th Sister’s voice remained steady. “The droid is almost done. Hold your position.”
I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, using the fear of discovery as fuel. Closing my eyes, I let my senses expand, pouring my awareness into the hideout, feeling the movement of those within. The energy of the place was calm. the subdued minds of my new friends didn't seem to hear the ships. Then, something bright in the Force—a presence so loud in the Force it made me recoil. I gasped, stumbling back from the terminal. The Jedi was here. I repeated the information into the commpiece.
“Kriff, get out of there!” Farrkus’s voice came through urgently, almost lost amidst the noise in my mind.
“No,” the 7th Sister countered, her tone hard. “Hold your position.”
I clenched my jaw, crouching behind the computer desk, pulling out my Westar-22 blaster pistol. My heart pounded as I tried to focus, to figure out my next move. No lightsaber, no more of the Han alibi anymore. The Jedi felt me touch his presence, he knew I was here. I was fucked.
Muffled voices came from just outside the door. Dodrias was talking to someone, his tone tense. Suddenly, Jorn and Vorn started shouting, their guttural voices filled with panic. The sound of blaster fire erupted, echoing through the corridor.
The door burst open, and I moved to rise, to fire, but a warning shot through me—a flash in the Force. The grenade detonated before I could react. The sonic blast ripped through the room, sending me crashing to my knees. Pain exploded in my head, my ears ringing, my hands wet with blood as I pressed them to my ears, trying to block out the overwhelming noise. I screamed, the agony pulling every thought, every sense, into a singular point of suffering.
“An effective tactic against Force users,” I thought bitterly, my vision blurring as I struggled to stay conscious.
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
“Fourteen, are you alive?” Farrkus’s voice cut through the comm, distant, almost drowned out by the ringing in my ears. I couldn’t answer, my body curled up on the floor, every muscle tensed against the pain. I had been careless, stupid. I should have been faster, should have anticipated the attack.
The door opened again. The Viper droid let out a series of frantic bleeps before it was blasted to pieces, the sound muffled through my damaged hearing. Weakly, I reached for the earpiece, focusing all I had left on crushing it with the Force before anyone could take it from me. The last thing I heard from the commlink was Farrkus’s voice, panicked. “Did he get anything?”
Footsteps approached, heavy boots thudding against the metal floor. Dozens of them—far more than I had ever seen in the warehouse. I could barely sense them, my awareness dulled by the pain, but there was no mistaking it. The Jedi was here, their presence a blinding beacon in the Force.
I tried to move, to fight, but my body wouldn’t respond. A sharp sting hit my side, and everything went dark. Stun shot. Low setting. As the darkness swallowed me, I heard fragments of a conversation—voices that seemed to drift in and out.
“What did he send them, General?” one voice asked, unfamiliar.
Another voice, urgent, interrupted. “General, he sent everything. We must move, now.”
----------------------------------------
Location: Nar Shaddaa - Skylanes
I woke up to the hum of a shuttle, my body swaying slightly with the movement. My head pounded, the lingering effects of the stun making it hard to focus. My hands were bound, my body slumped against the cold metal wall of the shuttle. I blinked, trying to clear my head, to get a sense of where I was and what was happening.
The memories came back in flashes—the computer room, the grenade, the Jedi. My heart sank as I realized just how badly things had gone. I had failed. Whatever information I’d managed to send, it had cost me everything.
I shifted slightly, my wrists aching against the restraints. The shuttle’s interior was dim, a few figures seated across from me, their faces obscured by the shadows. I could feel their eyes on me, watching, waiting. My chest tightened, fear mixing with anger. I had no clue where I was, what they would do to me. I was a villain in their eyes, some creature sent to kill them. I kept quiet, breathing in some air until my lung decided it was time to make some noise. Harsh coughs erupted from my lungs, cutting the silence and gentle hum of the ship. Footfalls of heavy boots approached where I was sitting.
“To think, months of attacking Imperial targets, and Vader sends one of his kath hounds?” disappointment rang out with the deep and commanding voice of the aged soldier, not a soft Jedi fledgling the 7th Sister suspected. A voice I had heard many times before, in a previous life.
“Kota.” I murmured under my breath, just loud enough for the Jedi General Rahm Kota to hear. A tall man, rugged features with deep scarring, broad shoulders armored by two metal shoulder pads and chest armor not too dissimilar from the Mandalorians. A brown cloak flowed from those shoulder pads, and wore a lightsaber that hung diagonally across his shoulder blades in an unorthodox sheath.
I should have known the moment we were sent to Nar Shaddaa. The attacks, hit and run, sabotage. It wasn’t outright brazen attacks as he had done in the ‘past’, there was no Tie Fighter construction facility in orbit just yet. He was building up his little army, his loyal militia men. Teaching them how to fight against the Empire, and to resist us Inquisitors. He was smart, tactical with what resources he could spare.
“Han,” he said, crouching to meet my broken eyes. “That’s the name you gave us, right?”
His hand moved to the hilt of his lightsaber, and I felt the cool metal of the flanged emitter tip press beneath my chin. Anger flared from the man, a thirst for vengeance and justice urged him to activate his weapon. It was there, beneath the surface like a shark hunting an injured prey. Sooner or later, that hunter would devour its prey. Just not today.
“I could kill you right now. What you did to Jorn and Vorn was despicable.” He let out a weary sigh, the threat of death delayed for a little while longer. I could feel the exhaustion in Kota, the anxiety emanating from his men as the shuttle sped through the Nar Shaddaa skylanes. “But I have a better use for you.”
A grim smile tugged at his lips. “Your Imperial friends have likely discovered the target by now, but you can help us get inside faster. Before reinforcements arrive.” ‘Before the other Inquisitor arrive’, he left unspoken yet clear enough for me to sense just barely on the surface of his mind.
“General, I’ve barely been in this sector long enough to help you get past any se—” I began, attempting to argue, willing to play along. This man was far more dangerous to me right now than he had any right to be. I just needed to live long enough to get those reinforcements here, delay him enough.
“Security codes, schematics—all of it, we have. What we need is extra muscle,” he explained.
That caught me off guard. I couldn’t help but chuckle, which quickly grew into a fit of laughter. It was genuine, painful, reverberating through the metal cabin. A few tears slid down my face, and I brought my shoulder up to wipe them away.
“Come now, General. You’re willing to take that risk? I could kill you, and all your men if I wished.” I looked up at him, sensing his echo in the Force—a vortex of energy, a whirlpool lazily circling a spout. Tense yet calm, ready to spring into action at any moment.
“You haven’t,” Kota replied, standing upright. “So, I offer you a choice. Die alongside your fellow Imperials, with the facility burning around you,” he said, his voice cold, “or strike back against the Empire with us.”
I scoffed. “That isn’t much of a choice, Kota. This is the biggest gamble of your life. Why would you even risk it?” I prodded again. Truthfully, I had enjoyed my time within the Kutters, or whatever Kota’s merry band of misfits called themselves. I’d expressed my distaste for the Imperial hierarchy to blend in. I could only guess that through word of mouth or direct sensing, Kota had picked up on it.
Kota sighed heavily. “I can sense your future, boy. And Vader won’t always be your master.”
Another bark of laughter escaped me. “Is it crazy if I told you, I’ve heard that before?”
“General, ETA 60 seconds!” the pilot shouted from the front. His voice rippled with fear and uncertainty—perfect fuel for the fight ahead.
Rahm Kota nodded in acknowledgment and looked back at me, waving his hand. The restraints fell to the floor with a metallic clink. One hand extended toward me, the other holding his lightsaber, the emitter once again pointed at my chin.
“What will it be, Han?”
----------------------------------------
Location: Nar Shaddaa - Low Orbit Traffic Controller Station 73826-S
"Clearance code is 17C-SK007," a young man’s voice informed Captain Wiiks. A bead of nervous sweat rolled down his neck. An Inquisitor was coming to the station for an impromptu visit! When he asked for the reason, Captain Wiiks realized how foolish it was to question the purpose of such an important Imperial visitor. The code was valid, showing the Fourteenth Brother's security clearance. Records noted him as investigating regional issues with another Inquisitor, which the Captain confirmed with a quick glance at the datapad in hand.
“You are cleared for landing,” stated one of the facility’s many droids, stationed at the communication terminal. The command center was full of them; they were far more efficient than lifeforms that required rest. Only minimal sentient staff were aboard, most of them Imperial security forces and extra personnel. Droids handled even repairs and maintenance, funded through a joint effort of Imperial credits and Nar Shadaa's ruling Hutt, Grakkus.
"I shall meet the Inquisitor personally. Inform the troops to convene at Hangar A2," Wiiks ordered, turning and quickly trotting out of the command post, illuminated by the glow of red-lit screens. The doors opened to a long hallway leading to a turbolift. After punching in the floor level, the lift descended to the lower levels. The view was breathtaking: quadruple-reinforced plasteel mesh glass shielded the cold, turbulent low atmosphere, creating a panoramic tube to gaze down at the planet from. It was his favorite part of the assignment, the only part he truly enjoyed, though the view lasted only a few seconds before he was met with black, sterile corridors once again. He hurried from the barracks and repair rooms located on one side of the facility toward the hangar bay on the opposite side.
Stopping outside the hangar doors, Captain Wiiks imagined the troopers already inside, twenty of them in parade formation, waiting. Adjusting his code cylinders, he stepped into the hangar. Inside, the Imperial Stormtroopers stood at attention, and the shuttle was already parked. It was a type-B class shuttle, often favored by the Confederacy of Independent Systems during the Clone Wars—a Sheathipede model with a bulbous front and extended cabin. Unlike the class-E, this shuttle could transport a substantial amount of cargo rather than just a few dignitaries.
From his position, Wiiks noticed the pilot wasn’t visible. He walked forward, his boot heels echoing on the waxed hangar floor, pride swelling as he observed the troopers' polished armor. He had high standards for gear maintenance; out here in the Outer Rim, the brig served as a reminder for anyone who neglected those standards. Now standing at the end of the column of troopers, Wiiks watched as the shuttle’s ramp lowered, giving him time to steady his nerves. Stories of the Inquisitors were as daunting as those about Darth Vader. Clad in black armor and gray garments, they were formidable and fearsome. With a hiss of escaping gas, the ramp extended fully.
“My Lord Inquisitor, it is my honor to welcome you,” Captain Wiiks greeted, bowing deeply.
“Thank you, Captain,” echoed the voice he had heard earlier. It was young, reminding him of an aristocratic senator he once met during a cargo inspection. This encounter, however, was unlikely to be as congenial as that with the courteous Senator Oppo. Raising his head, Wiiks took in the Inquisitor’s entourage: twenty-five men, all armed and wearing makeshift armor. The one who spoke wasn’t dressed in an Inquisitor's garb but that of a second-rate mercenary.
Instinctively, Wiiks reached for his sidearm. “My Lord, what is the meaning of this?” he demanded, hand moving to release the strap but stopping short of drawing his weapon. “What’s going on?”
The Fourteenth Brother cast a wary glance over the troopers behind Wiiks, then leaned to whisper to the gray-haired man beside him. “Your call, Kota. Diplomacy or not?”
The General deliberated, extending his senses through the Force to gauge the flow of events. He was aware the shuttle’s clearance would be flagged immediately upon entry—an oversight in his rush to complete this mission. In a swift motion, his green lightsaber ignited. This time, there was no battle cry. The Imperial soldiers behind Wiiks scrambled in alarm, some taking cover and others kneeling to fire quick shots as Kota’s militia fired back, taking cover behind the shuttle ramp. Kota deflected the blaster fire, adopting a defensive stance to protect his men.
Captain Wiiks tried to move but found himself paralyzed, his eyes widening as he saw the Inquisitor holding him in place with the Dark Side. None of the troopers had attempted to retaliate against the traitor yet; their attention was entirely on the Jedi and his militia.
“Please, my Lord, why—” His plea was cut short as a blue saber ignited, the beam whizzing through the air and severing his head.
“I hate it when they beg,” Alonzo muttered, noticing several E-11 blaster rifles now pointed in his direction. A confident grin spread across his face. He was finally free to unleash his fury—a perfect excuse to butcher Imperials before killing off General Rahm Kota.