The Weaving Force: Chapter 33 (Patreon)

Chapter 33:

Dooku:

As Yan Dooku approached the hangar bay where the Vista was docked, A warning shuddered through the Force, telling him that all was amiss, but he wasn’t quite sure what.

The Force did not indicate violence would be needed; words would suffice.Yet, he still kept his hand near the lightsaber at his side; it would not do to be careless.

As he opened the hangar bay door, his eyes took in the sight of the Vista - a strange name for a ship with so poor a view from any window - and saw it was utterly wrecked. So, that’s what the Force was alerting him to.

He stepped into the hangar, and he realized too late that he had misattributed the specifics of the warning when he felt the barrel of a blaster against the back of his head.

“Alright, old man,” Kronos’ voice growled somewhere behind him, “we’re gonna have an honest talk.” Dooku slowly raised his arms even as he allowed the threads of the Force to reach and touch the young man’s hand and fingers, ready to tighten their grip over his digits to keep him from pulling the trigger. Difficult, but it was his only chance.

“I assure you, Kronos,” he said, only now catching sight of the rather large green rifle pointed straight at him from his right, held by the Mandalorian woman, Hannah, who was laying down to increase her accuracy, “I have been nothing but honest with you.”

“Yeah? Then why is it that after I stepped onto this planet, heading towards your target, the next thing I know I’ve got a hit squad trying to kill me. Me, specifically. You’re the only one who could have told them where the hell I was going.”

“Hmm. That is curious,” he said, mostly to himself, thinking aloud.

Kronos didn’t take it that way, misinterpreting his droll tone for a taunt, pressing the barrel more firmly into the back of Dooku’s head.

“Don’t screw around, old man.”

Dooku shrugged carelessly, slowly lowering his hands to adjust his sleeves. They had rolled up his arms while he had them raised. Unseemly. “If I had arranged that ambush, and you had survived, I would not have walked in here without my weapon drawn or without backup. What you’ve said is new information to me.”

He turned around, staring down the barrel, making Kronos tense up.

Dooku laced his hands behind his back.

“Watch it,” the boy’s fingers tightened over the trigger.

Dooku was unphased, barely paying attention to the boy as he considered things.

“Who was it that attacked you?” he asked. “The Hutts? Or another group? Are you familiar with them? Do you have history?”

The boy’s grip on his weapon was white knuckled, his other fist clenched just as tightly before the gun lowered ever so slightly

“Don’t know ‘em. Called themselves Bando Gora.”

Dooku stiffened. ”Ah.”

That name made things considerably more awkward.

The sound he released made the boy readjust his aim back to his head. “You know something.”

“I do.” There was no point in obfuscating. “The Bando Gora are assassins for hire. Their top leadership are usually Force-sensitive to a degree.”

“Like you?”

Dooku snorted. Ignorance. “Not like me. Their leader, however… I know her well. Her name is Komari Vosa. She wishes me dead. I’m afraid this ‘hit squad’ was after me, not you.”

“They didn’t mention you,” the boy pressed. “They called me out by name.”

“You either have a contract set out against you, or Komari specifically told them to-” he gestured between them. “Likely hoping this would end in one of our respective deaths. Either you kill me, or I kill you and the others. Leaving me stranded and embroiled in a difficult position with the local authorities.

A thought occurred to him then, and he glanced up and away from the boy.

“How long ago was the ship damaged?”

“Dunno,” Kronos mumbled.  “An hour? Two? Taking that roundabout way towards the smoke shop kept us for a while.”

“I take it Guriwik is dead as well?” he asked, still looking around the hangar.

“Yeah,” Kronos shrugged, his gun still drawn but not pointed directly at him. The Mandalorian woman, though, had not shifted her aim at all. “Still doesn’t explain how the hell they’d know where we were headed.”

“That answer is simple,” Dooku commented, turning to walk away from the now mollified boy. “The Sith knows I’m seeking information about Damask and simply put a trap along the next breadcrumb.”

“Really putting the cart before the horse, there,” Kronos hissed, slowly holstering his blaster and signaling the Mandalorian to do the same.

“Do you have another explanation?” The question was rhetorical. Dooku could feel the confirmation in the Force; the Sith knew what he was doing.

He was getting close. This was all the confirmation he needed

He kept walking.

“Where the hell are you going?”

Dooku didn’t answer, rounding a corner. While he had taught Obi-Wan and Anakin much, he’d learned a bit from them as well.

Namely, how one would ‘hack’ the security system of a highly monitored hangar bay – perhaps to ‘borrow’ a ship that would be returned only ‘half crashed’, or in this instance, raid a freighter without any authorities discovering the deed or interfering.

With a wave of his hand, two large cargo crates ground across the iron floor with a screeching squeal.

“There,” he gestured.

A small slicer droid, disposable and preprogrammed, was still latching itself onto the astromech port.

Kronos and the Mandalorian Woman both approached. The boy was still cautious, still wary. The woman still had a weapon in hand, but it was a far more reasonable size..

“How’d you know it was there?” Kronos asked accusingly.

Dooku rolled his eyes.

With a gesture he drew his saber, and with a snap hiss and a flick of his wrist, the droid was in two pieces. He ignored both the Mandalorian and the smuggler drawing their guns on him.

By the time he placed the hilt on his belt hook again, the alarms had started blaring.

(X)(X)(X)

Taylor:

Halcyon was, thankfully, not like Coruscant.

Where Coruscant had buildings that were, effectively speaking, cities unto themselves, with practically whole ecosystems living between their walls and halls, Halcyon had cities that were more akin to those from home. Individual buildings, streets, open spaces, and so on.

It helped. It really did. Sure, my powers in a Coruscant spire were likely even more effective, given the sheer congestion, but it was harder to move ‘unnoticed’. After all, psychologically, you don’t really notice someone crossing the street – you do, however, notice someone walking down a hallway you were meant to guard.

But here, just the normal foot traffic of the city did more than enough to conceal my and Windu’s movements.

We were dressed in civilian wear, of course. I was wearing a sort of overgrown jacket that seemed to be in fashion here, and Master Windu was in what I assumed to be normal work clothes, the equivalent of dress pants and a button-up white shirt from back home.

He somehow seemed… less without the robes. Less gravitas, less powerful. Just… less.

It was definitely off-putting. But it was also good, because not attracting attention was the goal.

Giving the guards and lookouts wide berths, drawing in close to the building only when we could; where the lookouts had blindspots or when there was a shift change. Windu hung back at times - like, a city block away - still within my range and still able to reach me in seconds with a burst of speed, if need be.

But there wasn’t a need. These guys were ready for Halcyon Security. An eighteen-year-old girl didn’t even register on their radar.

Which was already actionable information, truth be told.

“So, they are laying a trap for us?” Minister Q’ou’s voice asked through our earpiece.

“They are,” I nodded. “Can’t really tell what weapons they’ve got, but they’re definitely rifles, not just hand blasters. I noted at least two crates of explosives, and they have some heavy assault droids hidden inside that building.”

“Where in the void did they get assault droids?!”

The question didn’t really seem directed at me, more a general ‘curse,’ so to speak. I shrugged, turning my gaze to Windu.

As we walked, the Jedi Master seemed deep in thought, his brow furrowed, fingers cupping his chin.

I let him think, content to walk in silence.

As we rounded a corner, we reached an unmarked speeder. Close-topped, it was the equivalent of a van with a sliding door back home. Though, if I understood local vehicles correctly, this was a repurposed trash compactor.

The doors opened as we drew close, an agent gesturing for us to climb in; we did, and the door shut behind us.

On the interior screens was a holo-layout of the building. It was a large place, a droid processor manufacturing plant. Or, at least, it had been once. Most of that equipment seemed to have been ripped out root and stem when the terrorists moved in, if not repurposed for other ends.

The building’s surrounding grounds had two large courtyards at the north and south ends, with the building itself splitting those areas off from each other.

If I were any judge, they were once parking areas for the transport trucks. Surrounding both those courtyards were high, angled walls, and two stretched-out walkways for loading cargo. One high, one on ground level. Made sense when you had flying cars.

Similarly, the building itself looked like a cross between a manufacturing plant and a control tower in an airport. Again, made sense when you had flying trucks to manage.

It had three levels: two “floors”, and a third that was the diamond-like tower head itself.

Repurposed, as it was, with combat in mind, they had converted it into a fortress with the walls and walkways altered to be ideal crossfire locations. The building was now a glorified bunker, and the tower a massive shooting platform and sniper’s nest.

My scouting with my insects had also revealed that they had well over seventy people in there, ready to fight. The two droids I’d seen, I suspected were once heavy lifter droids – little more advanced than a giant forklift, originally – but, mount a few guns on a toaster, and it’ll start making more than just toast after a while…

…

Did it count as “fucking Tinkers” if it was mundane tech here?

In short, anyone who marched in here had better be ready for a heavy fight, or they were gonna have a very very bad day.

Windu took a seat in the truck’s passenger bay, arms crossed, still thinking.

I sat down, too, listening to the chatter between Minister Q’ou, Master Yaddle, and a few advisors on the other end of the line.

Finally, the Jedi Master opened his eyes. “Padawan Hebert, how would you approach this problem?”

I’d been expecting the question, honestly. Windu, more than anyone besides Yaddle, here, understood the extent of my powers and the level of ‘omniscience’ I had.

I knew the layout of that place better than its builders after spending most of the day with my bugs crawling all over it.

“Four pronged attack,” I answered simply, turning my head towards the screen with the building on display. I noted that two of the three agents in the back had ‘subtly’ turned their eyes and ears towards us. ‘Not listening.’

I got up, pointing at a drainage pipe. I’d discovered towards the center of the building’s foundation. “You and I come in from below. Maybe with a squad, if you’d like to be cautious. We attack, cause a ruckus, and as soon as the outer patrols start rushing in to help, attack from the two courtyards with Master Yaddle. With everyone distracted on ground level, the last group comes in from above, through the tower. Hit them fast, make it overwhelming and from all directions. They’ll fold.”

It was, after all, how I’d won most of the fights I’d had no right to win.

Windu’s eyes narrowed, frowning. “The first attack squad will be engaging at a huge disadvantage. Low ground, surrounded, cut off from reinforcements, with a difficult retreat route if things go wrong. And, if they have sensors, or detect the squad approaching, things will be even worse.”

“You’re not wrong,” I shrugged. “But, either way, you’ve got a fight on your hands. Either take the gamble that lets you win as fast and clean as possible, or you grind it out. There’s no way to get around it.”

“And negotiating their surrender?” He raised an eyebrow.

I…

… hadn’t considered that.

I almost reeled where I sat at the realization.

Why… hadn’t I thought of that?

“You… know they won’t accept that,” I said.

Again, a single eyebrow raised on the Master’s face.

“Don’t I?” he questioned. “The presence of a Jedi might sway them,” he volunteered.

“And it might not. Then you throw away the element of surprise, causing even more needless risk.” I wasn’t wrong, but it still bothered me: that niggling… something tickling the back of my thoughts that questioned why I hadn’t even bothered considering talking.

I paused, mulling over anything else I could say.

“You labeled them terrorists,” I pressed.

“My opinions are immaterial to your responses,” he dismissed, staring at me intently. “A Jedi should always consider peace, first and foremost, as an option.” His stare told me he knew I hadn’t. “Even if they find they cannot take that option for whatever reason.”

I didn’t have much to say to that.

Silence fell over us.

“We will discuss our possible paths with Master Yaddle and Minister Q’ou,” he finally concluded. “The Halcyon separatists will hold for a few more hours until we decide on a course of action.”

I nodded.

(X)(X)(X)

Hannah:

“What I demand to understand is precisely what sort of backwards, mediocre security this planet employs! My employees attacked in the streets, my ship ransacked and nearly destroyed. If this is how Utapau conducts business, I’m afraid Serenno will simply have to search elsewhere for its financial needs-”

“N-no, no, I assure you, My Lord Dooku, that this matter is being thoroughly investigated as we speak…” The diplomat was nearly kowtowing in obeisance towards the Count, which - given that he was a very tall Muun - was rather impressive.

As soon as the alarms went off and security swarmed the hangar, Hannah was sure that they would be in for a rough few hours, at least. Plenty of cameras had caught them fleeing the scene down along the thirteenth level, combined with what happened to the Vista, and she could see everyone being tossed in holding cells while investigators figured out what actually happened.

It's what the PRT and police back home would have likely done.

Here, however, as soon as the head of security arrived, Dooku immediately began throwing his weight around, bludgeoning and browbeating the local authorities  with his station and pure presence. A very few times, some new authority seemed to resist, before the Count’s overbearing wrath made them decide to throw the situation up the chain of command.

Which led to this, wherein they were placed in front of a member of the Banking Clan.

How a bank had more authority in security matters than the head of security for this sector, she didn’t know. But apparently that’s how it was on this planet.

“There is no need for Serenno to seek out any other services! The culprits will be apprehended, our security around your hangar will be tripled, and an entirely new ship will be provided to yo-”

“You will repair my vessel, Muun. I did not arrive in one of your ships, I arrived on mine, and I will be leaving with it.”

“O-of course, right away! I will send out the orders immediately.”

“See that you do.”

Hannah turned away from the exchange, casting her eyes towards the ship itself. Rugess stood by the mangled entry ramp, wringing his hands nervously as the various crime scene workers and police climbed in and out, taking pictures and samples, and examining score marks and the various points of damage.

Dennis paced, walking around in the relatively isolated area of the hangar bay like a caged tiger, arms crossed, mask still firmly in place.

His worry and relief regarding Rugess had ebbed. His suspicions of the Count had likewise  receded, somewhat, leaving him with nothing but his own mounting anger as he kept staring at his ship.

She heard rapid footsteps on the steel floors, the energy at her hip whorling as though it would change for a moment, before she arrested the urge and kept it as a knife.

Turning her head towards the sound of someone hastily approaching, she saw one of the security officers rushing towards the Banking Clan member, who was still doing his level best to keep his bowing head below Dooku’s nose, allowing the older man to properly look down it.

The security officer handed the Banking Clan member a datapad. The Muun looked at it briefly, then his eyes widened and snapped back to it as he seized it to read it more thoroughly.

His face brightened, “This is excellent news, Master Dooku! One of the suspects - a member of the group that attacked your employees in the lower levels - he survived!”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” the Muun assured the Count, nodding with a pleased smile. “He received two shots to the chest, but survived long enough for our medics to arrive. We should be able to interrogate him once he regains consciousness.”

“I would speak with this man,” the Count pressed. “He might respond to a Jedi’s persuasion over more mundane means.”

“Ahhh… well… you see that is… somewhat irregular.”

“You will overlook the irregularity,” Dooku said, waving his hand in a slow, seemingly dismissive gesture, “to make amends for this lapse in security.”

“Of course,” the Muun answered dully, bowing again, his voice almost resigned in how flat it was. “I will overlook this irregularity, to make amends for this lapse in security.”

—--------------

By the time the security teams were packing up and leaving, the sun was beginning to set. The sinkhole was now lit up by artificial lights rather than sunlight, and the overhead skies were cast in brushstrokes of orange fire and twilight purples.

The Count had wrangled out stays in a hotel along with added security for the evening. Tomorrow they would go and ‘visit’ the survivor, and see if they could wrangle some answers out of him.

“I trust I am cleared of suspicion.”

The old man’s voice was droll, losing none of that confident, well-worn arrogance that pervaded his every act and mannerism.

Dennis still scratched the backside of his blaster’s handle with his thumb, his fingernail grinding against the metal.

“I can’t think of a reason you’d try to make a backstab this elaborate,” he finally admitted.

It was a fair assessment. To be frank, Hannah couldn’t fathom why someone would try for something this elaborate either.

She would likely keep a close eye on the Count, but she had a feeling that sentiment was more due to the close call, still fresh on their minds and frayed nerves, than on any real basis.

Seeing how much sway the old man could bully the local security forces into having his way, he could have had them both thrown in jail for a very very long time if he’d been behind this failed assassination attempt.

Dooku snorted through his nostrils. “Carry your suspicions on your own time. Komari Vosa has stranded us on this planet for a reason; likely this first attack was merely an exploratory one. An attempt to draw me out, or leave me isolated here.”

Hannah crossed her arms. “So, what’s her next move?” she ventured to ask. “You know her better than us.”

“The young woman I knew would have wished for a confrontation,” he answered. “Tomorrow, we will go to see her assassin, but in truth, I suspect we won’t truly need his information. She will seek me out, instead.” A fond smile graced his features. “My students would say something inane, to simply walk forward and spring the trap as it were.”

“You disagree, I hope?” she asked; that sounded like a supremely ill-advised idea.

Dooku shrugged. “I’ve… repurposed their methods,” he answered carefully.

(X)(X)(X)

Taylor:

My plan was adopted.

Mostly.

The general idea still held, but neither Windu nor Yaddle were at all comfortable in placing me in the first ‘wave,’ even though that’s where I felt I could do the most good. Neither of them wanted to order a Padawan into the ‘teeth’ of the fighting.

Windu would be taking my place, and a squad of, well, SWAT - or at least this planet’s equivalent in the security force - would be at his back.

Heavy weapons, body armor, the works.

Yaddle would lead the attack on the north side courtyard.

I would be entering from above with the last attack wave, the one that should receive the least amount of resistance.

I understood the precaution. I got why they felt like they had to protect me, but it was a waste. That initial squad could remain hidden with me in their team and get into a position to cause huge damage if I were guiding them.

Maybe Windu could do the same by following the vague, nebulous warnings of the Force - he was a Master after all - but “vague and nebulous” wasn’t the cold, hard certainty of insect-based tracking and local omniscience.

I chafed under the decision, but I knew better than to protest. Both Windu and Yaddle were… protective personalities. If it were Yoda - who enjoyed experimenting - or perhaps Master Plo - who trusted me to know my capabilities - I might be able to convince them. But not these two. Not for this.

Minister Q’ou wanted to get started immediately, so as not to give the rebels the chance to catch wind or make any changes to their defenses. I also understood that sentiment as well. He apologized for the rush, recognizing we’d scarcely had a chance to rest before being thrust into this.

But for all his apologies, he still implored us to help regardless.

It took several hours to organize a raid of this size.

Which… fair enough. It was gonna be a big raid.

Three gunships. Six armored vehicles. Twenty squads (around a hundred and twenty men). A force like this would have been assembled to back up the Protectorate if they were going to seriously strike at Lung or Kaiser back home. So, Minister Q’ou wasn’t exactly tossing a hasty, understrength force at this problem and hoping the sleep-deprived Jedi would just carry it to a win.

And, to be even more fair, the minister wasn’t exactly caught up on sleep, either, as far as I could tell.

So we were dismissed while the preparations were underway, which gave Windu, Yaddle, and me some precious hours to catch some of that coveted sleep.

By the time we woke up some three hours later, the sun had long since set. It was approaching the galactic standard hour of 19:20, but, for this part of this planet, that was closer to an equivalent to three or four am.

In short, those separatists were probably tired and sleeping as well.

Even better.

I sat in the gunship with the squad of troopers, waiting. The engines were spooled up and ready to launch, but still… waiting. Waiting for Master Windu. Waiting for Master Yaddle. Waiting for command to give the order to scramble out.

The weight in my hand was heavy. Not my Lightsaber.

We were four minutes away at top speed. Which was mind-boggling to me. We weren’t anywhere close to that separatist base. At a guess, it was the equivalent of the distance between Boston and New York. Four minutes made it feel like we were just a stone’s throw away.

I listened to comms. Mace didn’t have my level of awareness, but he had experience. He was careful, cautious. More than once, he’d avoided a patrol as far as I could tell. He let his techs scan for traps and sensors as they progressed. He was in no rush, showed no anxiety. This was a job, one he’d done countless times before.

The squadron with me was a different matter.

I could sense their nervousness. Their anxiety. It suffused and suffocated the inside of the gunship. It was easy to block out, but still annoying. Distantly, I could sense Master Yaddle’s Force signature; as ever, the small woman was sending eddies of calming Force energy to those around her, easing anxious hearts and steeling resolve.

I wondered, for a brief moment, how much good that ability - that woman - could do back on Earth. Against things like the Slaughterhouse Nine, or the Endbringers. And then felt a pang of guilt at the thought of placing her against those monsters. And then I strangled a knife of fear and panic in its proverbial cradle before it could overwhelm me.

Those memories weren’t mine. They. Weren’t. Mine.

The weight in my hand felt like lead.

I heard the sharp chirp of a blaster go off on my comms.

A brief, half second of silence.

Then another, and a third.

A crackling hiss.

“This is Jedi Master Windu with the first strike team. Contact established with insurgents! Second and third waves, begin your attack!”

I heard the sound of rifles being primed, weapons checked, and the engines beginning to howl.

But all those sounds were quiet, muffled things, compared to the buzzing of insects in my mind.

—-------

Gavorn:

It was textbook.

Halcyon security had one way of doing things.

Slow, and loud.

Be it their public relations, their police work, or anything else. Everything they did was slow and loud.

They’d hired back that fossil Q’ou from the fucking graveyard he was stuffed into. But the old relic wouldn’t change things. Certainly not enough to run the security forces with any form of competence.

When they came for them, they were supposed to literally see them coming. Walk right into the teeth of their guns under a hail of blaster fire. They would give them a bloody nose, then slip out. The few boys that got captured could be busted out when they were transported to New Koren prison.

Then the bastards came up from below.

Worse than that, they showed up with a Jedi.

No one was supposed to know about that tunnel. He’d checked, himself. It had been purged from all the official plans and blueprints of the whole sector. It would carry them to tunnel four F on the east side, an abandoned maglev cavity and they’d simply walk right out of. By the time Halcyon security knew where the kark they’d escaped through, they’d be long bloody gone.

Instead, the karking bastards had hauled themselves up through that same freakin’ tunnel.

Even so, he figured they could have held that line. They should have held that line. Eight men and one Jedi. Down in the lower pits. It was a shooting gallery. Or, it should have been.

Then, the catwalks and railings had just… fallen down. Chains broke, railings bent, and whole sections ripped themselves from their moorings, making his boys plummet down to the ground. The Jedi had jumped - jumped - damn near thirty feet to get at them, swinging that purple blade this way and that. He cut off Larn’s hand, and punched Korelli so hard Gavorn was pretty damn sure the bastard’s chest caved in. Korelli was a Whiphid! How do you cave in one of their chests with your bare hands?!

Then he heard other calls on the radio. Front and south courtyards. The auto-defenses came up, blastin’ away, but without organic hands and minds to do the actual fightin’; the auto-defenses were shit. And there was another Jedi, a tiny green thing, hoppin’ around, bouncin’ everywhere and causin’ more mayhem.

The karkin garden gnome had ripped their heavy duty droids off of the ground without even touchin’ ‘em, slamming them through walls like a wrecking machine, tearing ‘em apart and rippin’ flank routes open so the  damn security teams could lay into the boys any time they tried to form any kind of resistance.

He didn’t know how in the blue Corellian hell he made it out of that mess, but before he knew it, just him and the twenty or so men that were left were scramblin’ up the tower. If he was fast enough, he could get to one of the jetpacks they had stashed there; they didn’t have a lot of fuel, but they sure as shit had enough to get him out of this bloody mess!

He peered down, over the edge of the stairs. There was still a mess of red and green blaster fire being exchanged, and the purple and green blades of those Jedi were still visible through the smoke. Men screamed; droids sparked. Fires began to turn the world beneath him orange. The smoke stung his eyes and throat.

He climbed the stairs faster.

The world below was wreathed in flame, the world above midnight black-

He heard a sound: a buzzing, a loud droning in his ears, and he wondered what in the Sith hell it was, even as he kept running.

One of the boys made it to the tower’s door ahead of him. Gavorn was already out of breath even as the man pawed at the access codes.

Gavorn coughed, smoke making the back of his throat while the man fumbled with the controls. After a few tries, the man finally opened the blasted room!

He shoved his way to the front, damn near throwing bastards to the floor as he forced his way through the door.

The air up here was still crisp and clean. The smoke hadn’t gotten through all the vents yet. He sucked down a deep, grateful breath of air.

The lights flickered on, illuminating the darkened room filled with deactivated consoles and stockpiled weapons, including long rifles and disruption torpedo launchers.

And there, towards the very back, jetpacks, twelve of them. Enough to field a Jump pack squadron. He started moving, rushing forward quickly to snag one, his hand gripping his blaster in case one of these karkin’ bastards learned to do some goddamn math in the next few minutes and realized there weren’t enough to go around.

As he rushed forward, mid step, a shaft of light bright and white cut into his eye, making him wince with the blinding radiance.

He almost put it out of his mind. Almost kept running. He could hear the others behind him, too damn many just as focused on the jetpacks as he was.

He looked around, a slow, creeping realization dawning on him.

The others didn’t notice. Too stupid. Too blind. Eighteen men scrambled for whatever gear they could find… and they didn’t notice a karkin’ thing.

They were in the tower. The tower with window panes. The tower that could be used to see across half the fuckin city in any direction.

And yet the windows were pitch black.

He stared at the glass, trying to see what was blocking their view. They weren’t like those fancy panes that could become a two-way mirror depending on the current put through them. The city never turned off its lights.

He squinted…

He stared, blinking, leaning closer. Because he must be seeing wrong…

The windows couldn’t be covered frame to frame in writhing, skittering bugs.

He breathed heavily.

Where the warm air from his lungs fogged the pane, a thunderous, bone-rattling CRACK sent a snaking fissure straight through it.

In the next instant - before he could scream - the glass shattered.

He’d remember that moment until his dying day.

It wasn’t the bugs crawlin’ over his face. It wasn’t the scream from the boys. It wasn’t the all encompassing darkness that swallowed his whole world, or even the terror that came later.

It was the noise.

The droning, hissing, buzzing noise

A noise that vibrated through your whole body. From your head to your toes, that shook the air in your lungs, and made the bones in your body feel like they’d vibrate off your muscles.

A noise so deep you’d drown in it.

The men screamed. Blaster shots rang out, arms wielding them flailing. He heard the door slam shut like an iron gate, sealing even as someone tried pounding away at it, desperate to escape.

He wasn’t sure how many she got before he finally saw her.

The yellow blade came first. Bright, shining. It cut weapons in two, fists and bone breaking force taking men down after.

Then it disappeared.

He’d see it again a second later, far away, too far away. That time, an arm was cut, not a gun. He barely caught the faintest hint of a silhouette through the gloom before the blade vanished again.

It appeared closer when he saw it next. Too close. He heard the man choking, a dark hand, its grip like iron, wrapped around his throat. His fingers were clawing at the forearm that held him up as he tried to struggle free.

That’s when he saw her: the nightmare

Eyes of yellow gold, too large for her face. Tendrils of ink for hair, a hissing mouth of too many teeth, and a face of gray flesh.

He wasn’t the only one.

Another of the boys, one of the last, aimed for her, rifle firing from the hip. That particular karker knew we didn’t have a lot of time before she disappeared again.

Something moved through the dark. A mass. It was only when it came into the faint edges of the yellow light that he saw it was one of the derelict consoles.

The shots hit the steel, tearing through metal and burnt wiring before it was sent hurtling through the blackness and buzzing bodies.

Gavorn doubted the idiot ever saw the train that hit him.

Gavorn finally settled his own rifle, ready to pull the trigger.

He felt a grip at his throat, sudden and unyielding, cutting off the air from his lungs. His chest hitched, his grip on his weapon losing all strength, falling from his hands in the sudden blind panic of not being able to breathe.

He moved to kneel down to grab the rifle again, and shoot her before he was choked to death-

Then he was lifted off his feet, body going straight as he was pulled across the room, boots scraping against the floor before he fell into the grip that felt like it was ready to tear open his throat with bare fingers.

The edges of his vision were growing dark, the utter and complete blockage of his windpipe rapidly sapping him of whatever strength he might still have.

The yellow blade drew closer, and he could see the Nightmare looming over him in her full, terrifying form.

She didn’t say a word.

When the world went dark. He wasn’t sure if it was his lack of breathing, or the bugs that had devoured all the light in the world.

All he knew was that the sound - that horrid, overpowering noise - faded away into an equally drowning silence.

—---------------

Yaddle

Master Yaddle, more than most on the Council, often felt that the Force… whispered to her.

A touch on her cheek. A breeze across her ear. Small nudges here and there, that if one only listened, stopped and allowed themselves to hear, they could follow.

It was hard, to be sure. Only Qui-Gon, dear boy, could seemingly grasp it as readily as her. Or, perhaps, could remove himself enough to do so.

Perhaps that’s why Dooku had reached out to be her friend. A way to better understand his beloved student.

Right here and now, amidst the noise, and the pain, the many calls for all kinds of attention all competing with each other… In the aftermath of the attack, it was difficult.

But still, she tried.

Because she felt, just as strongly, that it was important.

And so she listened.

She walked away from the pain, the distractions. She left Master Windu to oversee it. The boy would do a good job, she knew that.

Her steps carried her upwards. Past the medics, past the police and investigators still moving about the area. Past the prisoners, shackled by the railings.

Up up. Higher.

Nudge her, the force did. Until she could feel it.

Tightly wound. So tight it hurt. Like a muscle tensed to the point of tearing, and yet held there still, the pain ever increasing but the consequence of releasing it so much more painful.

Her small, clawed hand waved; the door opened at her urging through the Force.

And there she was.

She stood on the walkways overlooking the courtyard. Sitting down on the grated floors, knees held up to her chest, dark hair forming an inky curtain.

In her hands… a mask.

Chitinous. Insect like. Its yellow eyes gleaming in the sunlight.

Her grip over its edges was tight. So tight it must hurt. And yet she dared not let it go.

“It's done,” the poor child whispered.

Yaddle stepped closer.

The tempest raged again, the winds howled. Jagged rock and crashing waves.

Yaddle’s heart bled.

Oh… Padawan.

“This is what I had to do, right?” she asked; fingers kneading the edges of this thing in her hands. “I did it, then.”

Yaddle didn’t answer. Instead, she stepped closer to the poor girl.

The youngling lurched forward, shoving the mask at her, and Yaddle took it from her hands, divesting her of its physical presence, but not of the gyre of sheer horror still surrounding her heart.

The poor girl shuddered.

Carefully, quietly, Yaddle set the mask down, its yellow eyes staring sightlessly towards the sky.

Then, she closed the remaining distance, tiny arms reaching up, to pull the girl close, and hold her tightly.

It was, perhaps, awkward. She so much smaller that the girl’s head was all she could hold properly, but Hebert merely shuddered. Her whole body released a single horrid shake as desperate breaths shook free of her lungs.

Her arms wrapped around Yaddle, clutching tightly, as the old Master rubbed a claw through her hair.

“Taylor… it's- I’mTaylor. M- My name is T-”

Her voice shook, then cracked, and finally broke. Mewling in her tears and breathless sobs as Yaddle rocked this girl - her Padawan - as gently as she could.

(X)(X)(X)

And here is chapter 33;

I've been looking forward to this one.

I'll be honest, The scene with "Gavorn" was meant to be from Tay's POV but I wanted to try and see if the audience could deduce what exactly happened that made Taylor cry like that; so 1) I hope you all enjoyed the scenes and 2) Tell me what you all think happened that set our girl off pls :)

Also, Yaddle is best grandma.

Remember there is a discord channel to discuss this fic and not need to worry about spoilers of the patreon exclusive chapters :)

https://discord.gg/U7SmdTas