Transformers Regenerated: Beyond Imagination V, Chapter One

ONE: WE INTERRUPT THIS BROADCAST 

Circuit ran as fast as his legs could take him, cursing himself the entire time.

Of all the times to try out enriched nucleon…

“Hurry up, Circuit! We can’t miss this!”

Swearing aloud, Circuit willed his motors to work themselves faster. The pearly white corridor of the Exitus seemed to stretch out longer and longer as he made his way to the hangar bay, where Longtooth in his gray and red transport mode was already waiting. This was supposed to be his big break, but he just had to screw it up. Ever since he had changed his function from trader to journalist, he had missed out on a number of big scoops, from the launch of the Lost Light to the terror campaign of the Grand Architect. And while he was not the first to cover the Council of Worlds’ initiative to restore the colony worlds from the Grand Architect’s attacks, he was going to be the first to get a chance to interview the one and only Thunderclash, one of the most famous Autobots after Optimus Prime himself. He could think of no better opportunity for himself.

And he just had to screw it up by locking up his transformation cog by filling up his fuel tank with enriched nucleon.

As Circuit finally closed the distance between him and the hangar, Longtooth converted to his robot mode and deployed his built-in camera.

“He’s already started speaking. Come on, let’s go.”

Readying his microphone, Circuit followed his camerabot into the crowd of mechs that had gathered at the edge of the hangar, right where the doors were. Standing before them, in his sparkling white and red armor, was Thunderclash, captain of the Exitus and hero of the Autobot Guard. His golden face beamed as he graced his audience with his booming yet sonorous voice.

“Nearly a year ago, the roads of Velocitron were ravaged by the destructive forces of the Grand Architect in their efforts to siphon it of its unique energon ore. The process of reconstruction has been a long and arduous one, but today we are here to bring that process to a conclusion!”

Cheers rang out from the crowd. Circuit pushed his way through the sea of bots as he attempted to make his way to get to the front of the audience. He thanked the Primes that Longtooth was taller than him and thus was able to still get footage of Thunderclash as they made their way towards him.

With a large red hand, Thunderclash gestured to a large yellow femme standing amongst the crowd. “Treadbolt here has brought the finest construction engineers from Cybertron and Caminus to help restore the streets of Speedia so that the Velocitronians may race again!”

Applause broke out and Circuit could have sworn he saw Treadbolt’s steel blue faceplate shift pigmentation. He disregarded it as he finally made his way to the front, bumping into a smaller black and white Camien bot as he did so.

“Watch it,” the Camien hissed at him.

Circuit did not offer any sort of apology as he looked up at Thunderclash, microphone at the ready. “Thunderclash, sir, if you don’t mind me asking—”

“While Treadbolt and her engineers are hard at work,” Thunderclash went on, as if no one had spoken to him, I will be leading an entourage to keep the people of Velocitron entertained while they wait for the chance to race again! Rather than watching the roads, people will be watching the skies as we perform all sorts of aerial stunts and maneuvers never seen before! All coordinated by none other than Aileron here!”

More applause broke out and Circuit realized it was directed at the black femme he had just brushed past. He slowly looked over at Aileron as she planted her hands on her hips and gave him a glare before beaming proudly at Thunderclash.

Clearing his vocal processor, Circuit tried to refocus himself as he turned back to Thunderclash. “Excuse me, captain, but I would like to ask you a few—”

“Now then, allow me to introduce you to the rest of our stars!” Thunderclash pointed to a blue and red mech near the front. “Hot Shot!”

Circuit leaned over to Longtooth and spoke to his camerabot on a frequency that only they could hear, to tune out the noise of the crowd. “You said the script for the speech ended at ‘may race again.’”

Longtooth shrugged sheepishly. “Thunderclash likes to improvise sometimes. I guess today is one of those times.”

“Minerva!”

Circuit sighed. “How much longer is he gonna go on…?”

“Ricochet!”

“Huh.” Longtooth tapped the side of his head. “That’s odd. I thought Ricochet was—”

“Circuit!”

Circuit blinked at the sound of his own name. He dared not move as the crowd suddenly went dead quiet. Even Thunderclash’s grin became a frown as he looked around.

“Circuit?”

Circuit slowly looked up at him and raised a finger. “Um, my name is Circuit, sir, but I believe uh—”

“Ah, excellent! Give it up for Circuit, everyone!”

“But, sir, I don’t think…” Anything Circuit was going to say was drowned out by the deafening applause. Behind Thunderclash, the hangar bay door began to open and Circuit’s metal exterior was greeted with the cold, roaring winds of Velocitron’s sky. As everyone braced themselves against the breeze, Thunderclash raised his voice so that he could still be heard.

“Team, get into position! It’s time for the show!”

“The show?! What show—ahh!” Circuit yelped as he was pushed forward by Aileron. He looked down at the Camien, whom he swore had a smirk on her pink faceplate. “Is this some kind of joke? Longtooth, help me out here!”

His camerabot offered him no words of advice as he simply waved at him. “Have fun, I guess.”

“No, no! This is some kind of mistake! I’m just a journalist! I’m not—”

He lurched forward as Aileron attached some sort of rocket pack onto his back. He was then guided over to where Thunderclash and the rest of his entourage were standing at the edge of the hangar.

“On the countdown to one!” Thunderclash held up three fingers. “Three!”

Hot Shot nudged Circuit with his elbow. “You ready to roll, buddy?”

“Two!”

Circuit could only stare ahead. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“One!”

With a gentle shove from Aileron, Circuit fell from the edge of the hangar and plummeted straight towards the ground below.

*  *  *

“They’ve started their broadcast. Are we rolling?”

“We better be.” In the shadows of a dark room, a pair of hands grabbed the sides of a camera and forced it to focus on a monstrous face. “We are rolling, aren’t we, Zoom Out?”

“Y-yes, Octopunch, sir,” a meek voice squeaked out.

“Heh. Sir. I like the sound of that.”

“Shut up. Just because you’re the spokesbot doesn’t mean you’re in charge.”

“It does now, Submarauder. Now be quiet.” Octopunch stepped back so that he was in frame, showing off his white and teal armored body. Purple tendrils, almost organic in nature, sprouted from his back, surrounding his diver-like helmet. “Greetings, Cybertron. We interrupt this broadcast with an important message: You are being deceived.”

“That motto is soooo outdated—”

“Submarauder, I swear to Primus I’m going to gut you.” Octopunch cleared his vocal processor. “As you may know, the Autobots whom you have entrusted with guidance and leadership have undertaken the remarkable endeavor of repairing their shattered worlds after the devastation they have suffered nearly a stellar cycle ago. A truly noble endeavor… and naive.

“Ask yourselves this, Cybertron: is it worth all of the time and resources to restore these colonies? Are those resources not better saved for our own home planet? Ask yourselves, what have these colonies done for us? What have they contributed to our society?”

Octopunch held up a disk-shaped object, small enough to fit into the palm of his hand. He pressed a button and the hologram of a spherical planet appeared from its projector. Tinted red, it was laced with interconnecting roads that covered the entire surface.

“Take Velocitron, for instance. Ever been to the Ibex Cup? Imagine that but using it as the backbone of your society. Velocitron chooses its leader by determining whoever is the fastest. No consideration of political acumen or charisma; no, it is only speed that determines the fate of an entire planet. Does that sound like a planet that can make a worthwhile contribution to the Cybertronian Commonwealth?”

Octopunch put away the hologram and walked to the right side of the screen. The camera followed him, revealing the sight of a gold-plated mech chained up to a wall, looking battered and beaten. Octopunch gestured to the golden bot as if he was presenting an exhibit at a museum.

“How about we ask someone native to the world, hm? What did you say your name was, again, kind sir? Electrons, wasn’t it?”

The gold bot seemed to barely have enough energy to lift up his head, his optics dim. “Electro….”

“Hmm. I liked mine better.” Octopunch placed a finger underneath Electro’s chin to lift up the mech’s drooping head, forcing him to look into the circular visor of his helmet. “Tell me, Electrons, who is the current leader of Velocitron?”

Electro groaned as he struggled to speak. “O-Override….” 

“Uh-huh. And how was she chosen to be your planet’s leader?”

“She—she won the Speedia 500….”

“Indeed she did! And by no other merit was she chosen to become the leader of an entire planet.” Octopunch stepped away from Electro, turning back to face the camera. “And that is only an example of the flawed systems that plague the Autobots’ commonwealth. The Autobots themselves choose their leader based on affinity with a bauble tied to myths that have since been debunked. The beasts of Animatron continue to fight amongst themselves even after their planet has been wiped out. The Devisiens are stagnant. The Mini-Cons are scattered and thought extinct. 

“Clearly there can only be one solution to address this issue. The Autobots’ futile attempts at establishing order have clearly failed, which can only leave the alternative: chaos.”

Octopunch extended a hand and another Cybertronian—a gray and maroon mech with a head resembling that of a skeletal ram—placed a vial in his palm. Opening the vial, Octopunch stepped over to Electro and held it over the golden bot.

“It has long been theorized that gold armor is the most vulnerable to corrosive elements. Let us test that, shall we?”

Electro’s stuttered protests quickly turned into screams as droplets of liquid fell from the vial and onto his gold armor plating. The metal instantly began to sizzle as it slowly broke apart, golden chips falling to the ground. Octopunch proceeded to dump the rest of the vial’s contents onto Electro before tossing it aside and stepping back up to the camera. 

“That is the same corrosion that awaits our so-called ‘Golden Age.’ Rather then wait for the chaos that is to come, why not become the chaos? Become the change that you want to be.”

He held up his hands together, creating a vague “M” shape.

“We are Mayhem. And so are you.”

*  *  *

“Circuit. Hey, Circuit. You okay, buddy?”

Circuit groaned as his visual sensors switched back online and recalibrated themselves. His optics then focused on the frowning faces hovering over him, which he recognized as belonging to Hot Shot and Minerva.

“You kind of crashed out up there,” Hot Shot said. “Minerva thinks you went into stasis lock. Fortunately Aileron had emergency control over all of the rocket packs in case of that happening. Most of us aren’t exactly adept for flying, after all.”

“You don’t say?” Circuit snapped, sitting up even as Minerva tried to gently coax him back down. “I wasn’t even supposed to be here! I’m just a journalist trying to get the scoop on this whole thing! I wasn’t supposed to skydive with you!”

Hot Shot smiled sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, that’s what I kinda figured. I’ve met the Circuit who was supposed to show up and she looks nothing like you. Plus, she’s a she, so…” He coughed awkwardly. “Sorry about that.”

Circuit sighed as he placed a hand to his head. “So, where is Thunderclash? And the others, for that matter?”

“Scanning the area,” Minerva explained. “We apparently experienced some kind of broadcast interruption. They’re looking to see where the signal could have come from.”

“Oh, yeah? I might be able to help with that.” Circuit pushed himself up to his feet, only to immediately lose his balance. Both Hot Shot and Minerva rushed to help him up. “Well, Longtooth might be able to, anyway. Let me try to hail him and….”

As he spoke, Circuit detected a ping from his comm. At first, he thought it was from Longtooth, but a quick read of the ID immediately indicated otherwise. As his logic processors struggled to make sense of what was happening, his distress was apparently obvious to Hot Shot and Minerva, as they once again regarded him with concern.

“What’s up?” Hot Shot asked.

“It’s…” Circuit shook his head. “Look, this might be a dumb question, but did you guys ever read Wreckers: Declassified?”

“You mean Fisitron’s series? Hell yeah, I did!” Hot Shot grinned at first before adopting a more solemn look. “Shame about what happened to him, though. That last entry he sent… when he died… that was probably the most harrowing thing I’ve ever read.”

Circuit slowly nodded. “Right. So, there’s another new entry.”

Hot Shot’s optics widened. “What?! But Fisitron—Ironfist—he’s supposed to be—”

“Dead, I know. Which probably explains the title of this datalog.”

Minerva frowned. “And what is that?”

“The dead come home.”

Hot Shot scoffed. “Yeah, that’s not ominous at all. Are we sure it’s not another hacking incident?”

Before anyone could answer him, the ground shook as an explosion went off in the distance. The three bots looked in the direction of where Velocitron’s roads were being rebuilt, and saw smoke billowing up into the sky.

“Whatever it means,” Minerva said, “I doubt it’s anything good.”

*  *  *

“Aileron! Get me a visual scan of the area and transmit a distress signal to the Exitus! Ricochet, stay close with me!”

Thunderclash drove across the rough terrain of Velocitron’s surface as he made his way to where the roads of Delta were under reconstruction. Up ahead, he could see a number of Velocitronians laying on the ground, some still functioning, others very much not so. He kicked on his speed boosters and sped ahead towards the scene, with Ricochet struggling to keep up.

As he closed in on the scene, Thunderclash transformed to robot mode and raised a hand to his comm. “Minerva, I need you over here! We’ve got a lot of wounded!” His optics then fell on a purple-and-black motorcycle femme, who was attending to an injured mech. “You, there! Do you know what just happened?”

“No, sir,” the femme replied. “It… it just happened out of nowhere. I think… I think the explosion came from the capitol building.”

Thunderclash looked over and saw that, indeed, the capitol building of Delta was ablaze, with a pillar of smoke rising from it into the sky. Pushing through the crowd of spectators, Thunderclash rushed towards the building.

“Everyone get back! Evacuate the area, immediately!”

“Are you crazy?!” exclaimed a member of the crowd. “Are you seriously going in there?!”

“Someone has to, and I’d rather it be me than you!” Thunderclash replied. “Now get back! I’ve got it handled!”

Transforming back to his truck mode, he accelerated towards the burning capitol. Upon reaching a gaping entrance that had been blown open in the wall, he rolled back into his robot mode and rushed in, pushing through smoke and stepping over deactivated bots littering the floor.

As he cleared his optical sensors, he spotted the body of Velocitron’s leader Override laying sprawled over a console. He rushed over to her and rolled her onto her back; to his relief, her optical sensors flickered back to life and she stared up at him with a dazed expression.

“T-Thunderclash?” she started to say.

“Override. What happened?”

“I… there was this mech. He walked in here with something strapped to his chest. He… he activated it before anyone could stop him….”

“A suicide bomber.” Thunderclash grimaced. “Do you remember what he looked like? Or what he said?”

“No… it wasn’t anyone I recognized, and I don’t recall him saying anything.” Rubbing her helm, Override pushed herself back onto her feet. “We can worry about the cause later. We need to help these bots.”

Thunderclash didn’t stop her as she rushed over to one of the fallen mechs. As he surveyed the scene around him, Ricochet came rushing into the room behind him, nearly tripping over one of the fallen bodies.

“Is, uh, everything all good here?” The black and white Autobot visibly winced at the senselessness of that question. “What exactly happened?”

“We’ll figure that out after we’ve helped the injured,” Thunderclash replied. “After that, we’ll convene and try to put the puzzle pieces together.”

“Do you think it has anything to do with that interrupted broadcast?”

“To be honest with you, Ricochet? I would be very surprised if it wasn’t….”

*  *  *

“It’s done. The message has been sent.”

“I still think we should have attacked them directly. Some of those guys don’t even look like fighters.”

“And that I why I am the brains of this operation and not you, Skullgrin. Striking now will only ruin our cause. We need to strike at the sparks of the people. Get them to rise up against the Autobots. Only then will we be able to succeed where those before us failed.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Skullgrin poked the motionless form of Electro, whose once bright gold plating was now coated in rust. “What do we do with this guy then? I think he’s still functioning, if barely….”

“Let them find him. Let him spread the word of what we’ve done to him. It will sow distrust. Uncertainty. Paranoia.”

Submarauder made an exasperated sound. “Enough with the big game talks, Octopunch. What’s our next step?”

“We have an appointment on Earth to meet. The natives of that world are already swinging on the pendulum of trust and mistrust towards the Autobots. It will be ripe for what we have in store.”

“For spark’s sake, Octo’, stop acting as if you’re the one calling the shots here. We all know you’re not.”

Octopunch whirled on Submarauder and jabbed a finger into his chest. “I was left in command of this specific operation and so you will respect my authority! Is that understood?”

Submarauder scowled at the other Decepticon before shrugging. “Fine. Whatever.”

“Good. Skullgrin, ready our transport. Our next destination awaits.”

THE DEAD COME HOME

Batman: More than Meets the Eye - "Down the Rabbit Hole"

And now for something completely different.

These stories will take place in the same world as Transformers Regenerated, and will even directly tie-in or crossover with characters from those stories... as will be the case here.

DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE

Gotham City, 2009

It was supposed to be a straightforward case.

Last night, a man named Jervis Tetch had been spotted leading a young, blonde-haired woman into his apartment. That fact alone was already cause enough for concern, as Tetch was supposed to be on house arrest after he had been released from prison for good behavior. But it was the very nature of the crime that had gotten him imprisoned in the first place that made the situation even more concerning.

Tetch had been a scientist employed by Wayne Enterprises, specializing in advanced technology. At some point he had gotten a bit too interested in mind control technology and had attempted to use one of his inventions on a coworker he had been infatuated with. Said coworker, a woman named Alice Pleasance, just so happened to bear a striking resemblance to the titular character from Alice in Wonderland, a book that Tetch had always been obsessed with. While Alice Pleasance had long since moved away from Gotham after the incident, the fact that Tetch had been seen with another young blonde woman indicated that he had yet to overcome his obsession.

As it stood, it should have been a straightforward case. The police had surrounded Tetch’s apartment and, after failing to make contact, sent a team of officers to break into the apartment and extract Tetch and his victim.

Two hours had passed and no one had emerged from the building. All radios were silent.

That was when the signal lit up in the sky.

Nothing in Gotham was every straightforward.

Batman sat perched on the ledge of a building opposite of Tetch’s apartment. Down below, the police had established a perimeter around the building and were positioned with guns drawn just outside the entrance, the lights of their cruisers bathing the dark streets in fluctuations of red and blue. The rest of the units had already been evacuated, leaving only Tetch and his victims—his new “Alice” and the officers that had already been sent inside.

Tetch’s own unit was supposed to be on the first floor of the building, situated somewhere to the left and back. He didn’t like having to go in through the front door, as that was where Tetch was likely expecting anyone to come through, but as he saw it it was his only option. There were no windows or any other access points that led to the unit.

He dropped down from his perch, his cape flaying out as he glided gracefully to the ground. Some of the officers reacted with startled or wary expressions, but not their captain. Batman had been operating in Gotham for long enough that Jim Gordon no longer had any reaction to his presence; after all, he had been the one who had sent the signal in the first place.

As Batman slowly approached the door to the apartment, Gordon filled him in on the details that he already knew about. He took the information in stride, not telling Gordon that he already knew everything about the situation, because then Gordon would have asked him where he had gotten the information and he would not have an answer for him.

Because he himself was not sure.

As he had been on the way to the Bat-Signal, he had picked up a transmission on the communicator built into his suit. The only person who was supposed to have access to his channel was Alfred, and yet the voice on the other end did not sound like Alfred nor did it sound like any of his regular foes. The voice was clearly being filtered through some sort of modulator, but he could tell that it belonged to someone young.

Very young.

The mystery informant had not given him any details beyond those concerning the situation with Jervis Tetch. All they had told him before ending the call was that “the nest” was “ready to take flight.”

Batman did not like the sound of that. But it was a problem he would have to solve later. Right now, the priority was Tetch.

After Gordon had finished speaking, Batman began to walk towards the front door. “Wait out here.”

Gordon frowned, his mustache creasing. “Are you sure you don’t need backup?”

“I never need backup.”

With that, he went through the door and headed straight for where Tetch’s apartment was supposed to be located. Upon reaching the apartment marked “149,” he found that the door was wide open, no doubt having been broken into by the officers Gordon had already sent in. Approaching the open unit with caution, he tapped a switch on the side of his mask to perform a quick scan for nearby heat signatures. When he picked up none, he carefully came around the bend of the door to look insider.

Other than the most basic of furniture—a bookcase, a table, a couple of chairs, a ratty old sofa, and an old television set—there was nothing of note to the apartment.

Besides, of course, the wide gaping hole in the middle of room.

From the looks of it, the hole appeared to be man-made, with a wooden hinged door of some kind hanging from it. Batman could imagine that the officers that had been sent in here had gone into the room, stepped onto the trap door, and fell down the hole when it opened—either from their weight or by Jervis Tetch remotely.

Peering into the hole, he saw that it wasn’t that far of a drop, meaning that the officers had likely survived the fall. The hole appeared to lead into some kind of basement, although from the mold growing on the walls and its otherwise decrepit appearance, it did not appear to have been touched in some time. At least not by the ones who owned the building….

Dropping down into the basement, Batman stood still for a moment to assess his surroundings. In the distance, he heard what sounded like music. Adjusting his mask’s audio receptors, he was able to distinguish some of the notes and quickly deduced—from its jovial tone and goofy vocals—that it was from a cartoon. Specifically, a very old cartoon released some time in 1951….

When Jervis Tetch had been evaluated by the doctors at Arkham, they had connected his obsession with Alice in Wonderland—both the books and the animated film—to his mother having exposed him to those stories when he was very young, right before she had died. Being shunned by both his abusive father and his peers at school, Tetch had constantly returned to those stories in search of some liberation from the real world. His desire for escapism eventually evolved into an obsession, and during high school it bled out into his social life as he became obsessed with a classmate who, like the protagonist of the books he read, had been a blonde girl named Alice. That Alice had rejected him, and since then he had been searching for his one true Alice… the one who would live with him in Wonderland for the rest of their lives.

It was Batman’s strong belief that Tetch should have remained locked up, whether it be at the prison or at Arkham, because he knew those kinds of obsessions did not go away overnight. But the judges had let him out on good behavior, oblivious to the fact that even the most unhinged and depraved person could hide their true nature quite well.

It was easy to put on a mask. He did it every single day.

Following the sound of the music, Batman slowly trudged through the damp floors of the basement. He tapped his mask again to scan for heat signatures… and immediately picked up one.

At the end of the room, emerging from around a corner, was a young woman—she couldn’t have been older than twenty—dressed in a white corset and blue coat. Her face was painted white, with black stripes lining her cheeks to represent whiskers. That, combined with the fake bunny ears arising from her blond hair and the stopwatch she was dangling in her hands, made it clear to Batman whom she was trying to present herself as.

“You’re gonna be late!” the White Rabbit impersonate cried out to him in a mocking tone. “Better hurry, better hurry, or you’re gonna be late!”

With that, she bounced back behind the corner, removing herself from Batman’s line of sight. Narrowing his eyes, the caped crusader removed a batarang from his utility belt and held it behind his back as he slowly approached the corner she had vanished behind.

Out of the darkness, a large fist grabbed him by the cape and pulled hard. Batman quickly turned himself around and threw the batarang into the face of the massive man that had attempted to ambush him. The thug was wearing a pinstriped shirt that was much too small for him, along with overalls that also appeared to be an ill-fit.

Tweedledee, he thought to himself. Which means Tweedledum is not far behind.

As if on cue, a second large man—dressed almost identically to the first—came out from where the White Rabbit had gone and lunged at Batman. The Dark Knight quickly dodged the attack, dropping down into a crouch as he rolled away. Tweedledum ended up crashing into Tweedledee, pushing his lookalike into the wall.

The two thugs did not take long to recover and they turned their sights back on the Bat. Tweedledee shoved his twin aside as he charged towards Batman, moving to swing his arm in a downward strike, as if he were bringing down a hammer. Batman avoided the move by jumping up and throwing himself at the thug, delivering a punch to the large man’s thick head. The force of the blow sent Tweedledee into a daze and he stumbled back into Tweedledum. His twin shoved him to the floor, letting him lay there unconscious.

As the remaining thug returned his attention to Batman, the Dark Knight ran forward and performed a flying kick. His booted foot made contact with the thug’s jaw and Tweedledum dropped like a rock, joining his lookalike on the floor.

Not waiting for either of them to get back up, Batman ran in the direction the White Rabbit had gone, following the sound of the music until it got louder and louder, to the point where it was almost blaring. As he rounded another corner, his eyes were instantly assailed with bright lights and colors, accompanied by the sound of uproarious laughter.

“Well, well, well!” a shrill voice cried out. “Look who finally decided to show up!”

After adjusting the lenses of his mask to withstand the sudden illumination, Batman received a full view of the unsettling sight before him. Laid out in the middle of an otherwise empty room was a long table covered with a bright pink cloth and decorated with a variety of tea cups and kettles. On either side of the table were the six officers that Gordon had sent in, tied to chairs with duct tape covering their mouths as they looked on in frozen horror. Bouncing around them was the White Rabbit as well as another woman dressed in an equally revealing costume only in brown, hearkening to the March Hare. At the very end of the table, dressed in baby blue and white, was the blonde girl that had been appropriated to serve as the Alice for this bizarre scene. And standing just over her shoulder, dressed in an old coat with an over-sized green top hat was the Mad Hatter himself: Jervis Tetch.

“I’m so glad you could join us, Batman!” Tetch offered a wide grin that showed off his buckteeth. With a gloved hand, he gestured to an empty chair at the other end of the table, opposite of Alice. “Please, make yourself comfortable!”

Batman remained where he stood as he affixed the Mad Hatter with a glare. “Let these people go, Jervis.”

“Jervis? Who’s Jervis?” The Hatter nervously adjusted his large hat, returning Batman’s glare with a crazed look. “I am the Mad Hatter and this is my tea party! Please, wouldn’t you join us for some tea?”

Batman narrowed his eyes as he shifted his attention to the rest of the Mad Hatter’s gang. Both the White Rabbit and the March Hare had similar crazed looks to their eyes, as did the motionless Alice and the tied-up officers. 

Recalling what it was that had gotten Jervis Tetch fired from Wayne Enterprises, that was when the detective put it together.

“You’re controlling their minds, aren’t you?”

“Control?” the Mad Hatter exclaimed. “What need is there for control?” He raised his teacup and waved it around, splashing its contents in every direction. “We just love tea down here, don’t we?”

Must be something in the tea, then. He’s had them drugged.

“Listen to me, Jervis,” Batman said aloud, firmly. “You need to let these people go. These are innocent people with lives, not characters for you to play pretend with in some deluded fantasy.”

“But we’re happy down here.” Jervis took a sip from his tea. “Aren’t we? We’re very happy. And soon, we all will be.”

As Batman tried to deduce the meaning behind those words, he heard his suit’s communicator intone as a voice crackled through.

“Batman?”

It was his mystery informant again. It had to have been, as Alfred would have never referred to him by that name.

“Batman, listen very carefully. Tetch has planted a bomb near your position.”

The Dark Knight frowned. “Where?”

“I don’t have an exact location, but it is within your proximity.”

Scowling, Batman turned back to the Mad Hatter. “Where is the bomb, Jervis?”

“Bomb? There is no bomb here.”

“People are going to die, Jervis. Tell me where it is!”

Standing next to the Mad Hatter, the White Rabbit let out a shrill laugh as she dangled her stopwatch. “Gonna be late! Gonna be late!”

With a snarl, Batman flung a batarang in her direction. It struck her hand, causing her to yelp and drop the stopwatch. Startled by the action, the Mad Hatter dropped his teacup and it shattered on the floor. At that moment, the March Hare drew a gun and began to fire a round at the Dark Knight.

Using his cape to shield himself momentarily, Batman readied another batarang and hurled it at the March Hare, knocking the weapon out of her hands. He then charged forward, throwing a punch into the White Rabbit’s face to knock her out before retrieving her stopwatch. As he flipped it open, he saw that rather then display an ordinary clock, it instead showed a timer that was counting down… and there was only a minute left.

Lunging forward, he grabbed Jervis by the collar of his coat and hoisted him up in the air.

“Where is the bomb?!” He shook the Mad Hatter violently. “Tell me!”

The Mad Hatter stared down at him, a wicked grin splitting across his face. “Don’t you want to come with us to Wonderland? I think you’ll like it there.”

Batman shook him again but the Mad Hatter only laughed, and laughed.

As the seconds ticked down in his head, his eyes glanced furtively around the room… until they landed on Alice. That was when he saw it.

There, nestled in her lap, just under the table—barely out sight—was the bomb.

Tossing the Mad Hatter aside, Batman lunged over to where Alice was seated and grabbed the bomb. As he attempted to pull it away, the young woman suddenly stirred and abruptly stood up. She lashed out with her right arm and the force of the blow was far stronger than he anticipated, especially from such a small person. As he fell to the floor, Alice rose from her chair, clutching the bomb in her hands. He glanced at the timer and saw that he only had seconds left.

He looked back up at Alice and saw that her eyes no longer had the crazed look to them. Instead, her gaze was hardened and full of malice, a far cry from the innocent and precocious fictional character she was dressed up as.

“Alice,” Batman said as he got back to his feet. “The bomb. Hand it over, quickly.”

Alice only stared at him as the bomb ticked away. Then, without removing her gaze from him, she pressed on either side of the bomb with both of her hands. Under the inhuman strength of her grip, the device caved in on itself before exploding—not in the manner it had been intended for but rather into its various component pieces.

Taken aback by this demonstration of strength, Batman did not have much time to react as Alice suddenly pushed past him and ran for the entrance he had come from. Upon seeing her run, the Mad Hatter stirred from where he lay and desperately reached out for her.

“No! My Alice! Please come back! Don’t leave me aga—”

“Enough.” Taking out a small blade, Batman used it to begin cutting through the ropes that tied the captured officers to their chairs. By now, the effects of Jervis’s mind-altering drugs were beginning to wear off on them as well as they began to blink rapidly, looking around in confusion.

Raising a hand to his radio, Batman said, “Captain, I have defeated Tetch and his compatriots. I’ve freed the woman and the officers, but the woman left before I could stop her. She might be on her way to run into you, so keep an eye out. And fair warning… she is a bit stronger than you would think.”

“Noted, Batman,” Gordon replied. “And thank you for your help.”

“Don’t mention it.” Batman paused as he looked over at the unconscious White Rabbit and March Hare. “Oh, and you might want to make sure you have something large enough to carry two brutes. It appears that Mr. Tetch has developed quite the criminal connection….”

*  *  *

She knew they were waiting outside to take her. To “rescue” her.

She would not let them. She would not let them take her back.

Her memory was fuzzy as she tried to piece together what had happened to her, how she had ended up here. When she closed her eyes, she saw flashes of what she could only assumed was her past. She saw faces, but they were indistinguishable. She remembered names and words, but could not place them into a coherent order.

The only thing she knew for certain was her name: Alice. It was the name she had given the strange man with the hat, which had apparently led to him capturing her for whatever twisted purposes he had in mind.

Was he with them, she wondered? The people who had kept her in a cage all that time ago? Was the man dressed like a bat related in anyway? She had no idea—and she had no intention of finding out.

After climbing out of the self-made manhole, she made her way through the apartment complex until she found a door that led out into an alleyway. Strobing red and blue lights told her where her potential captors would be, and she moved swiftly through the shadows to evade their line of sight. It was a feat that would have been impossible for a human… but she was no human.

Not really.

Before long, the sirens and the bat and the hatter were all a distant memory as Alice vanished into the shadows of Gotham.

*  *  *

“You never saw her?”

“Nope.” Jim Gordon slammed the door to the cruiser that Jervis Tetch had been put into. “She never turned up. My guess is she slipped out the door to the alley, even though my officers positioned there never saw her.”

Batman frowned as he looked back towards the apartment building. “There was definitely something off about her. She crushed the bomb with her bare hands—something even I couldn’t do.”

Gordon snorted. “Well, hopefully she doesn’t fall in with Falcone or any of the other crime families. Otherwise, we’re gonna have a bigger problem on our hands.”

“We should also look into how Jervis got his hands on his mind-altering drugs, as well as his hired help. I don’t think all of them were under his influence.”

“I can imagine some of them didn’t need much convincing.” Gordon brought out a cigar and lit it up with his lighter. “That White Rabbit woman, I’m pretty sure she’s Lorina Dodson. A socialite from Boston. I remember first hearing about her a couple of years ago from some tabloids; people were upset about her marrying a man old enough to be her grandfather when she was only eighteen.” He then shrugged. “’Course, I’m pretty sure she was just in it for his money. Anyway, they also talked about how she was obsessed with Alice in Wonderland, almost to the same level as Tetch here. Pretty sure she even auditioned for that remake that Tim Burton is making.”

“As in the Gray Ghost flick?”

“The ‘89 one? Yeah. Although I preferred the one from the ‘60s with Simon Trent.”

Batman raised a hand to his chin. “I’ll have to look further into this Dodson woman then. I feel that her and Jervis ending up together might be more than just a coincidence.”

“It’s possible.” Gordon dug into his coat and brought out his notepad, flipping through its pages. “I think Bullock got some stuff out of her before she clammed up after demanding a lawyer. I can share his notes with—”

But when he looked up, Batman was nowhere to be seen. Gordon looked to the rooftops of the surrounding buildings, hoping to find a trace of the Dark Knight, but there was none.

Gordon sighed as he took out his cigar. “I really hate it when he does that.”

Star Wars: Vergence VI, Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

 Spaceport THX1138, Terra II

It was days like this that Jonn Durant seriously considered quitting.

He pretty much joked about quitting every day, but it was only on days like these that he truly meant it. When the spaceport was filled to the brim with so many people from all across the galaxy trying to get from one corner of the galaxy to the other, shoving each other in line and ignoring commands from security droids that were trying to get them to follow protocol. Some times, travelers didn’t even speak a word of Basic—or Bocce or any other trade language—meaning that he needed to call for a protocol droid or someone who happened to know whatever language that needed translating.

He was grateful that him having four arms meant that he was able to accomplish just a bit more at the same time than anyone with only two arms would be able to… but even he was starting to get stressed out from all he was being asked to do, and his heart went out to his two-armed coworkers. From having to direct a protocol droid to assist a traveler at one terminal, call in extra security for another, all while having to listen to the gripes of a belligerent Besalisk that was trying to lob a complaint at him… it took pretty much all of his willpower to not have a public meltdown right then and there.

He had to remind himself that this was all temporary; that the only reason things were as bad as they were was because of the state the galaxy was in right now. For the last six months, much of the Outer Rim had been terrorized by the insurgent pro-Imperial faction that called itself the First Order. So far, most of it had been concentrated in the eastern quadrants of the galaxy, far away from Terra II and the rest of the Fath sector, but it had still impacted enough worlds that people were trying to get away from it all. And given that Star Tours was one of the most accessible travel agencies for people living on the Rim, that meant a surge in travelers and a whole swath of flight delays. Meanwhile, the elites of the Galactic Alliance sat on their coffers, content with letting the newly formed Resistance handle things while they pretended that everything was fine, ignoring the cries of constituents that had been impacted by the situation.

But it was only a temporary situation. Just like the Galactic Civil War his father had lived through. Just like the Clone Wars his uncle Rio had lived through. Before long, this war would blow over and everything would be back to normal.

That was what he told himself. It was the only thing he could do to keep him sane.

After finally getting the Besalisk to calm down, giving her a routine answer that she seemed to find satisfactory, he hurried back to the front desk once she had walked away. Having finally gotten a brief lull in the chaos, he considered making a call home to Ardennia; tell his wife to start packing and find a safe place for them and the children. Maybe somewhere coreward, where the chaos was only something you heard on the HoloNet rather than something you saw with your own eyes. 

He was about to make the call when two humans approached the front desk. He tried not to sigh too loudly as he put on his best “customer service” face and smiled at them.

“How may I help you?”

One of the humans, a male in his late thirties, shifted his eyes before leaning in over the desk. “We have a flight scheduled for the Endor system at thirteen-o-four.”

“Endor system, huh?” Jonn took a glance at his monitor. “Terminal three, queue fourteen.”

“Thank you.” The man placed a bag of credits on the counter, which Jonn instantly pushed away with his right pair of arms.

“Oh no, we don’t do tips or bribes here. I know Terra ain’t the most, uh… non-backwater of worlds, but that doesn’t mean—”

“That’s for you and your family,” the man said. “Please, get as far away from here as you can.”

Jonn blinked as he stared at the human, trying to process what he had just said. “I… I’m sorry? How do you know I—”

“The First Order is about to be here any minute,” said the man’s companion, a woman about a decade younger. “When they get here, they’re not going to treat you kindly. Please leave. Now.”

Jonn could only gawk at them as they took their leave, quickly blending in with the rest of the bustling crowds. He looked back at the bag of credits, then at sea of people in which they had vanished.

Without a second thought, he snatched the bag, pocketed it away, before bringing up his profile on the monitor. Once he had clocked out, he rushed for his office to collect his belongings.

When life gives you a chance to get a break, he told himself, never turn it down.

*  *  *

“Is he still there?”

Rey looked over her shoulder at the front desk. The Ardennian worker was nowhere to be seen. “No.”

“Good,” Kalen Rusher said, looking straight ahead as he took long strides towards their designated queue.

“Who was he, exactly?”

“No idea. But I could tell he was stressed from the situation. You could sense it, yes?”

“Of course I did,” she said, a bit more snappish than she had intended. “But I don’t see why you would help a stranger like that out of the blue?”

“Why not? Is it not something a Jedi would do?”

“We’re not Jedi.”

“No. But helping others is not exclusive to the Jedi, is it? It is simply the humane thing to do.”

Rey furrowed her brow, ducking the wide shoulders of a passing alien. “But he didn’t do anything for us.”

“He told us where we needed to go.”

“Because that’s his job. He’s already getting paid. There was no need to give him extra credits; that was money we could be using.”

Kalen looked over at her but did not stop walking. “Why is this a difficult concept for you to grasp? Surely even on Jakku—”

“On Jakku, everything was an even trade.” She scowled to herself, remembering all the times Unkar Plutt had shorthanded her. “Or at least, it’s supposed to be. You do the work, you get recompensated. I traded in parts for food. I never got anything more than that unless I did more… and nobody did more unless they were guaranteed more.” She shrugged. “It was tough living, but straightforward. You pretty much knew what to expect every day. The only thing that threw surprises at you was nature itself… and Unkar Plutt if he was in a particularly bad mood.”

“Do you like surprises?”

Rey thought about it. “It depends on the type of surprise, I suppose.”

“Like your parents returning?”

She took in a deep breath, releasing it through her nose. “Something like that.”

Kalen looked back ahead. “I would have thought you’d be used to surprises by now. Or at least recognize that life in the galaxy is not quite like life on Jakku.”

She did recognize that. Spending close to a year training as a Jedi under Toah Jarsan and the last six months traveling the stars with Kalen had certainly thrown plenty of surprises her way. Not all of them had been good. There were some days where she wished she had never left Jakku; she didn’t miss her home world, but she did miss the relatively simpler life she had lived there. It had been a rough life, yes, but it had been one she had understood. One where she had understood her place.

But now? She wasn’t sure what she was. She knew she wasn’t a Jedi, but Kalen had not yet given a name to what they were, beyond simply “travelers.” She thought maybe after six months she would have understood what they were and what they were doing, but she still didn’t even know that.

She was lost. Just as she had been with the Jedi.

She was about to say as much aloud when Kalen suddenly stopped in his tracks. She did the same and immediately saw what had stopped him.

Up ahead, a squad of First Order stormtroopers had entered the spaceport, shoving their way through the crowds of people. One of them pushed over an elderly Mirialan woman that had been too slow to get of their path. Rey felt her heart swell with anger as she watched them walk over the old woman, ignoring her pained cries.

“They’re here,” she muttered.

“That they are.” Kalen glanced at her. “Stay calm and keep your head low. They won’t recognize my face, but they might recognize yours.”

Rey remained where she stood, staring straight ahead at the approaching stormtroopers. “There’s only five of them. We can handle them.”

“Yes, but we’re in a crowded area. If we started a firefight, then innocent people will get hurt.”

“If I move fast enough, they won’t be able to get a single shot out.”

Kalen gave her a warning look. “Rey, don’t do anything reckless. We have a mission—”

“The Force is telling me to do this, Kalen.” She brought a hand to her lightsaber hilt, hidden beneath her traveling cloak. “So I will do it.”

“Rey—”

She did not hear the rest of his words as she charged towards the stormtroopers. The lead soldier snapped his head to her and raised a finger in her direction. The others started to raise their blasters as she ignited the twin blue blades of her lightsaber, having modified her weapon into a dual blade in the months since she had joined Kalen. She leaped up into the air, they shifted to take aim at her, and then…

…she came down and her scarlet blade crashed against that of her opponent’s. The Cerean male staggered back and tripped, falling onto his rear. She twirled the weapon around her body as she glared down at the pathetic whelp.

“Get up,” she snarled. “Don’t you want to prove your worth?”

Lightning flashed in the blackened sky above as the people up in the auditorium seats chanted in her favor. The Cerean, his nose broken and bloodied, scrambled to get up, lamely lifting the lightsaber in his hand.

“Give in to your anger,” she told him. “You have no hope of winning otherwise.”

He blinked his eyes rapidly as he took in a few haggard breaths. Then, he charged at her, raising his blade high. As he was about to take a swing at her, she stepped to the side and brought her own saber upwards. The scarlet blade cut through the flesh of his arm and he released a cry of agony as both he and his severed hand fell to the floor.

“Pathetic.” She pointed the blade at his neck. “To think that the Iteration ever saw any potential in you.”

The Cerean simply squeezed his eyes in pain. Up above, the crowd cheered her name, chanting it to the sky.

“REY!”

She snapped back to reality and froze in the middle of raising her double-edged blade. She blinked and looked around her; laying on the floor, severed limbs scattered all about, were the five stormtroopers she had been charging at. Right in front of her, on his knees, was their commander, both of his hands missing as he trembled in fear. She slowly lowered the blade she had been about to decapitate him with and shut it off. Kalen then rushed over to her and grabbed her shoulder.

“We need to go. Now.”

“What… what happened?” She looked around at the carnage she had unwittingly created. “I don’t remember….” Her heart suddenly sank. “I didn’t hurt anyone else, did I?”

“No, mercifully. But we need to leave.”

He pulled her through the now-empty queue that led to their flight, the rest of the would-be passengers having apparently fled during the fight that Rey remembered no details from. Standing there pass the security barrier was a Zeltron attendant who appeared to be frozen in shock.

“Is our flight still prepared?” Kalen asked.

The Zeltron’s eyes went from the defeated stormtroopers to him. “S-sir, I’m not sure—”

“It’s okay. I know the pilot. He understands the urgency of the situation.”

The attendant continued to vocalized half-formed protests as Kalen and Rey continued past her. Rey could not help but sympathize with the woman; she felt as lost about the situation as she was.

They followed the pathways that led to the awaiting StarSpeeder 3000, a blocky transport that bore an assortment of dents and scorch marks, indicating it had been on its fair share of rocky trips. The attendants stationed outside did not say anything to the two of them as they allowed them onto the ship.

Inside the ship were several rows of seats, the latter two of which Kalen and Rey hastily occupied. As they fastened themselves in, an old RX-series pilot droid swiveled his head around, taking stock of the amount of passengers he had… of which there were only two.

“I thought there were supposed to be others to maintain your cover,” the droid said to Kalen.

“Consider our cover blown,” Kalen grunted back.

“That soon? And here I thought I had bad luck.”

“Just shut up and take off.”

As the pilot droid returned to the controls, Rey turned to Kalen, her body beginning to shake as the adrenaline wore off.

“What… what happened back there?”

“You tell me,” he replied without looking at her.

“I… I don’t even know. The last thing I remember, I was charging at them and then… I was somewhere else. It was dark and stormy… and I was fighting some Cerean man.”

Kalen took in a deep breath. “What else do you remember?”

“There… there were others. A crowd, like I was in an arena of some kind. They were chanting my name… except it wasn’t my name, even though it felt like it was.”

He frowned. “What was the name?”

Her mouth suddenly felt dry as she answered. “Kira.”

Kalen was silent for a moment before letting out a deep exhale. “We will talk about this later. Right now, we need to focus on our mission.”

“What even is our mission? You’ve barely told me anything about it.”

“Because it was need-to-know until we got to a secure location. A lot of people needed to pull the right strings to arrange for us to even do this.” He cursed quietly to himself. “I knew having the rendezvous being at a public spaceport of all things was incredibly risky… and it turns out I was right. But this was the only option at the Resistance’s disposal.”

Rey leaned forward in her seat. “But why go through all the risks? What’s so important about the Endor system?”

He glanced at her. “Because one of the Rebellion’s greatest generals is stranded on one of its moons and we need to rescue him.”

*  *  *

“Well, well. Someone certainly made a mess of things here.”

Ochi of Bestoon whistled to himself as he stepped over the bodies of dead stormtroopers. The spaceport had more or less been vacated by now, with only a few frightened attendants and confused security droids left behind. The sole surviving stormtrooper, the one missing his hands, was still on his knees as the assassin approached him.

“It… it was her, sir,” the stormtrooper said shakily. “It was the woman.”

Ochi rolled his eyes. “I know it was, moron. I was watching the whole thing.”

“Then… then why don’t you stop her? She’s getting away!”

“Yes, but she has a new Jedi freak hanging out with her and I haven’t studied his capabilities yet. And that idiot Hux doesn’t trust me with a Star Destroyer, so I don’t have a tractor beam to catch their ship in.” He then smiled. “But don’t worry. I’ve already placed a tracking beacon on their ship. Wherever they go, I’ll know.”

“If you call in backup now, I’m sure someone can intercept them. Besides…” The stormtrooper raised his stumps for arms. “I… I’m going to need a medic.”

“No, you won’t.” Moving swiftly, Ochi unsheathed a dagger, grabbed the stormtrooper by the helmet, and pulled his head back to slit his throat. He then let his body drop lifelessly to the floor as he wiped the blade clean. “But I will call in backup,” he continued to himself, eying the dagger with beady black eyes. “It just won’t be from Hux or any of his ilk. No, I will be calling in some old friends who might want to help me settle old scores. Because this one… this one is going to be personal.”

The dagger whispered its approval to him and he grinned down at it. He then returned it to its sheath before heading for the exit, still whistling to himself.

Star Wars: Vergence VI, Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

 Taris

If Trask Moran had a credichip for every auction of a Sith artifact, he would have had exactly two credichips. It wasn’t much, to be fair, but it was still strange that it had happened twice in the span of a year.

The Tarisian warehouse was a much more secretive and secluded place than the auction house on Ord Talavos had been, and there weren’t nearly as many people present trying to get a bid in. By his count, there were only about half a dozen criminal organizations being represented at the auction, most of them being holdouts from the Malvis Cabal that had collapsed six months ago. There were a few faces he recognized from back when he worked for the Cabal, but for the most part they were all new to him—thanks in no small part to Drakmos’s massacre of the leadership.

Unlike the last auction he and the Snatchers had been present for, this artifact wasn’t at the request of a client but rather the Boss of the Snatchers herself. Trask didn’t know much about this Sith artifact, but he figured it must have been worth quite a bit to get the Boss to emerge from the shadows. Not enough to get her to attend in person, of course, but enough to appear via hologram.

He had not yet activated the holoprojector, but it was ready at his feet, waiting for the auction to officially begin before he turned it on. Some of the other attending parties were doing the same, if their own holoprojectors were any indication. A part of him wished that the all-Rodian Kenu Clan, representing the interests of the Hutt Clans, had attended via hologram as their repugnant aroma was already beginning to fill the room.

As the gathered parties all waited in hushed silence, a pair of Gamorreans came out from one of the warehouse’s storage halls lugging a massive container of some kind, with a piece of cloth draped over it. Trask could not help but raise an eyebrow at that; he hadn’t been expecting this artifact to be so large. How had it escaped anyone’s notice in all this time?

As the Gamorreans set the container down on the floor, a grayish-green Khil stepped forward, rubbing his hands together as he regarded the assembled groups with greedy black eyes. The tendrils hanging from his face quivered as it creased in the rough equivalent of a smile.

“Thank you, everyone, for coming here. My name is Xedar, representative of Cravlov Enterprises.”

Trask knew a front name when he heard one; Cravlov he was pretty sure was a local Tarisian crime lord who lived in the Upper City. This Xedar fellow was likely nothing more than an errand boy who ran his more seedier operations so that he could keep up appearances among the Tarisian elite.

But, that really wasn’t either of his business; it was pretty typical as far as the criminal underworld was concerned. Instead, he took the Khil’s entrance as his cue to switch on the holoprojector at his feet. The life-sized image of the Boss materialized in front of him, projecting the slender form of a golden-skinned Halaisi woman, dressed in a stylish black dress that left her shoulders bare. Her appearance was a somewhat jarring juxtaposition to that of Trask and his fellow Snatchers, all who more or less had the typical roguish appearance of bounty hunters, mercenaries, and pirates. But no one in the room seemed to care about that fact.

“Out of respect for your time,” Xedar went on, “I will not get into too much preamble. Still, I don’t think it would hurt for you all to know the full story of this artifact just so that you fully understand its value.”

He dug into the pocket of his coat and brought out a holoprojector. He set it on top of the covered-up container and switched it on. The shimmering image of the Sith artifact was projected for all to see. It had an almost bug-like shape; its round “head” bore a circle of red orbs that looked almost like eyes, with a spiral-like disk laying within the center. At the top were two tiny pincers, while three tendrils curved on either side of the artifact. Its golden form tapered off at the bottom, creating the shape of a short, sharp tail.

“This,” Xedar began, “is the Muur Talisman. Created nearly seven thousand years ago for the Sith Lord Karness Muur, it is said to have the capability to turn any living being into rakghouls, horrendous creatures of the darkside.”

Trask resisted the urge to yawn. The sales pitches were always the most boring part of these auctions, especially since he never gave a damn about whatever they were selling. The only thing that interested him about this one was the size of the artifact; it didn’t look to be that large in the hologram, yet the box it was supposedly in was large enough to carry a human.

“For thousands of years, the Talisman was lost, until it was unearthed by the Empire sixty-two years ago. Still, the artifact evaded its grasp, as well as that of anyone who sought it. And trust me, there’s a very good reason for that—”

“E chuuta!” interjected one of the Rodians of the Kenu Clan. “We don’t care about any of this! Just give us your price!”

Xedar chuckled. “Ah, but I was just getting to that. You see, the Muur Talisman is not the only thing up for sale. It actually comes with a little bonus….”

With that, he shucked off the cloth that was covering up the container. A series of gasps rang out from the gathered parties and even Trask raised his eyebrows in surprise. The container, as it turned out, was not just any simple box; it was an oubliette stasis casket, with a large piece of glass that gave them all a glimpse of the young human woman laying within. 

“That bonus,” the Khil concluded, “being a living Jedi from the days of the Old Republic!”

*  *  *

“I have a visual of the quarry.”

“And?”

“Shadow was right.”

“Words no one ever wants to hear.”

Any context to her father’s words was lost on Cera Jarsan as she hid in the rafters high above where the auction was taking place. She did find it rather strange that this was about the second time in a year that she was witnessing an auction involving some ancient Sith artifact that a bunch of crime lords wanted for themselves. And to make matters even worse, one of those present was a man who just so happened to be her girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend.

The Force had a very strange way of testing her.

She forced herself to push such thoughts aside as she focused on the task at hand. The sight of the stasis casket and its contents did indeed confirm the intelligence that the Resistance agent Shadow had provided after he had investigated rumors of a Sith artifact being on Taris. Apparently, from what her father Toah had told her, it was an artifact that Shadow himself had had experience with.

Seven years ago, back when Shadow had been an agent for the Glorian Empire, he had come to Taris to locate the Muur Talisman for the purpose of eliminating Sith artifacts. By that point, it had somehow come into the possession of a Bothan Jedi named Dolar Ven’sol who had come to the planet to investigate similar rumors of such an artifact, and the Talisman had taken control of Ven’sol, driving him to unleash a horde of rakghouls. Ven’sol was eventually dealt with and was left for Shadow to deal with it. However, another Glorian agent—one who had gone rogue—interfered with his mission and he had been forced to kill her, but somehow had lost sight of the Talisman.

Cera didn’t think the ex-Glorian’s story fully added up, but it wasn’t her place to poke holes in his story. Not at the moment, anyway. Besides, the artifact that was around the mysterious woman’s neck did indeed match the description of the Muur Talisman… and the woman herself matched the description of the ancient Jedi who, according to recovered Imperial records, had been reawakened by Darth Vader on a desert moon some sixty years ago. That same Jedi had then been encountered by Vader’s son—and her father’s master—Luke Skywalker some twenty years after that. 

Beyond that, there had been no sightings of the woman, not even during Ven’sol’s brief uprising seven years ago. It had been generally assumed by the rest of the Jedi that Ven’sol had either been driven to kill her, or the Talisman itself had done so. Evidently, neither of those had turned out to be the case….

As the assembled crime bosses began shouting out numbers to bid on the artifact, Cera took a moment to assess each group, of which she counted six. For the Snatchers, there was only Trask and four others, none of whom had been there at Ord Talavos as she was pretty sure they had all killed each other. Besides the Kenu Clan, three of the other four organizations being represented were all holdouts from the collapse of the Malvis Cabal: the Tandoon Clan, now led by the Gaar Dranjat; the Open Eye Syndicate once led by Mikus; and the Void Pirates formerly led by Fehkla Gorr. 

The sixth and final group was one Cera had only heard of before but never encountered in her journeys. Comprised of marauders that always wore masks, they seemed to alternate between calling themselves Heralds of the Storm or Heirs of the Nihil; in any case, they seemed to be fashioned after a group of anarchists that had caused a few years of trouble for the Old Republic during the Golden Age, over two centuries before the Clone Wars. Their leader, present only in holographic form, didn’t even show themselves visually, instead being represented by four-sided insignia of the Nihil.

The fact that these guys had decided to attend this auction in particular was significant in Cera’s eyes; she remembered hearing about them being offered a place in the Malvis Cabal on more than one occasion and each time they had rejected it. Them being here now was a definite indicator that this artifact was likely the real deal; if it wasn’t, she imagined there was going to be a lot of bloodshed….

“Sold!” The Khil auctioneer’s voice rang out as his finger pointed directly at the leader of the Open Eye Syndicate, a member of a one-eyed species with pointed ears that Cera did not know the name of. The alien pumped his fist in celebration as the other members of his entourage cheered. The rest of the groups shared disgruntled expressions, while the Nihil wannabees simply stayed perfectly still, holding their weapons aloft.

As the Open Eye leader began to step forward, one of the masked marauders—a Devaronian judging by the horns jutting out from his head—suddenly raised his blaster and fired it at the one-eyed alien. The blaster bolt went straight through the leader’s eyestalk and he crumpled into a lifeless heap on the floor.

“The artifact belongs to us!” the marauder cried out. “Death to all who evade the shadow!”

Before Cera knew it, blaster fire began to ring out from all of the assorted parties and she had to duck to avoid a stray bolt that zipped towards the ceilings. As chaos unfolded below, she heard the comm-piece in her ear intone and she raised a hand to it.

“I hear blasterfire,” her father’s voice came through. “What’s going on?”

“Someone won the auction and nobody’s happy about it,” she replied.

“What do you intend to do?”

She let out her breath in a huff. “What a Jedi is supposed to do, I suppose.” She unclipped her lightsaber hilt from her belt and ignited its emerald blade. “Bring a peaceful resolution to the situation.”

*  *  *

Trask heard the tell-tale sound of a lightsaber turning on, but before he could deduce where it came from, he was knocked to the ground by a Gamorrean falling on top of him. The smell of singed flesh quickly filled his nose and with a grunt he tried to shove the dead porcine’s body off of him but to no avail.

“Mulb!” he cried out. “Get this thing off me!”

A burly Lasat Snatcher leaped towards his position, firing over his shoulder at one of the Rodians. He landed at Trask’s side and pushed the Gamorrean’s corpse off of him before helping him to his feet.

Over the sound of constant blaster fire, Mulb said, “The Boss ain’t gonna be happy about this.”

“She never is,” Trask grunted. “Now let’s get the hell out of here. Can you lift the casket?”

“I might be able to with Zakta’s help.”

“Good. Go get her and haul this thing out of here.”

As Mulb went to go find his Dowutin comrade, Trask caught movement in the corner of his eye and turned to see a young woman—a few years his junior—jump down from the rafters, wielding a green lightsaber in her hand. Her dark eyes locked into his and he felt his heart sink into his stomach as recognition of her face registered in his mind.

He had of course seen the holos and the wanted posters. He knew the bounties that were posted on her head.

But more than that, he knew who she was currently dating.

“Oh, karabast,” was all he could get out before an invisible force sent him flying off his feet. He felt his head collide with one of the storage containers and then everything went out like a light.

*  *  *

The lightsaber hadn’t gotten their attention, but her pushing Trask aside with the Force certainly had. The surviving fighters stopped and all eyes fell on Cera as she stood before them.

“Here is a brilliant idea,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm and steady. “How about we all put away our weapons and discuss this like adults?”

“You first,” growled a Dowutin Snatcher. “Switch off your light stick thingy.”

“Wait a minute,” said a three-eyed Gran from the Tandoon Gang. “I recognize her. She’s the Dowager’s daughter!”

“Which one?” asked one of the Void Pirates.

“The one she disowned. The one she posted a huge bounty on.”

Cera rolled her eyes. “The one who isn’t even biologically related to her. Look, can we please just—”

“Is it even possible to cash in the bounty on her?” asked another Tandoon thug. “I’m pretty sure the Dowager’s dead.”

“I hear the Chief of State’s the one who’s offering a payout for her,” chuckled a Rattataki pirate. “Imagine that: even the President of the galaxy wants her out of the picture.”

Cera took in a deep breath, her grip on her lightsaber tightening. Don’t let them get to you, she told herself. They’re trying to make you mad.

They do deserve a good beating though, don’t they?

She closed her eyes in annoyance. There was that damn voice again; the one that had been taunting her since the auction on Ord Talavos. It had been a while since she had last heard it, yet still it persisted. She tried to ignore it—no, she had to ignore it. Remember your training, remember your training.

“Say,” the voice of the Gran thug cut back into her thoughts. “Are you still with that Pantoran lady? Pretty sure she’s an outcast, too.”

“Oh, yeah!” The Rattataki pirate laughed. “That’s the whole reason her momma disowned her—’cos she’s a schutta-lover!” He then gave a leery grin at Cera. “Tell me, is it true what they say about Pantorans? That they taste like—”

Her eyes snapped open and she could watched as the Rattataki’s body went flying straight into the stasis casket. He crashed into it with a loud snap coming from his back. The force of the impact was enough to topple the casket over and there was the sound of glass shattering.

It was only then that Cera realized that her other arm was outstretched. She slowly lowered it as the realization of what she had just done dawned at her.

No. No, no, no….

No longer paying her any mind, the various pirates, thugs, and marauders scurried to get their hands on the casket’s contents, whether it be the Sith artifact or the woman who wore it. The Devaronian marauder was the first to reach it, after shooting the Gran thug between the eyes, and climbed over the toppled container.

“For the eye of the storm, I claim—” The Devaronian suddenly choked on his words as he staggered away from the casket. The others stopped and watched him as he desperately clawed at his neck and face. He grabbed onto the edges of his mask and wrenched it off, revealing a crimson face that was quickly draining of color. Blood leaked from his eyes and mouth as his body started to bend and twist in ways it was not supposed to. His skin bubbled as he ripped off his clothing to expose it, his entire form growing larger with every passing second. His horns broke off as his head morphed into something completely unrecognizable, his mouth now a hideous maw of razor-sharp teeth. Spikes jutted out from his back as the newly formed creature dropped down into a crouch, its small black eyes now searching for prey.

Its gaze fell on the Khil auctioneer and it lunged at him, scratching at his face. Cera could only watch in horror as the Khil went through the same transformation, just as the first creature went after one of the Rodians.

As the other pirates and marauders started to open fire on the emerging mutations, a figure emerged from behind the casket. A tall human woman clad in ancient Jedi armor that exposed some of her pale skin, black hair flowed from her head as her eyes blazed red. Her mouth twisted up into a grin that was as horrifying and inhuman as those of the rakghouls taking shape around her. When she spoke, her voice was intermixed with that of a spirit pulled straight from the depths of Chaos.

“And now, young Jedi, you shall taste the wrath of Karness Muur!”

As one, the rakghouls turned on Cera and, ignoring the ones shooting at them, began to charge at her as she raised her green blade in defense.