Transformers Regenerated: Beyond Imagination V, Prologue

PROLOGUE

  Fistfight had long since reached the conclusion that he hated Shockwave.

It wasn’t exactly a hard conclusion to reach. Having worked for the one-eyed freak for thousands of years, Fistfight had had first-hand exposure to Shockwave’s schemes and his monotonic lectures about logical conclusions and what not. He had suffered through all sorts of projects involving transwarp technology, armored beasts, and other such scrap.

Shockwave would constantly claim that he was not a mad scientist—that he was simply overseeing such projects to ensure that they benefited the Decepticon Empire’s overall military operations. But Fistfight was never convinced. He hardly saw what benefit armored Driller worms had to Decepticon military operations.

If anything, everything Shockwave did was to benefit himself in the long-term. He developed transwarp tech so he could undo anything the Autobots (or even Megatron) did that he was not satisfied with. He helped orchestrate the Secret Order to ensure that Megatron’s vision was not the only one shaping the future of Cybertron. He created replicas of famous Autobot and Decepticon figures to test out scenarios in which he would be the victor. He created backups of his processors and clone bodies to ensure that he would continue to survive long after he had been seemingly deactivated. He created Driller worms… well, that one Fistfight still wasn’t sure about.

To put it shortly, Shockwave was a nutjob. No matter how much he denied it.

And yet, even after all this time, Fistfight still could not get rid of him. Nor could he stop himself from obeying his every command.

It had all started almost a full year ago, right around the time Megatron had come back from the dead (again) and sent out a summons to all Decepticons. Fistfight had wanted to leave and regroup with the others at Verenya, wanting to get as far away from the Junkions and the filthy junkyard that he had been hiding at with those Autobots. But before he could do so, Shockwave had sent him a transmission with a simple message: “Stay.”

Fistfight had requested elaboration, but naturally he had not gotten it. Not at first, at least. After some time had passed, Shockwave had messaged him again, ordering him to stay close to the Junkions and follow them wherever they went. Seeing as the Junkions were perfectly at home at the junkyard, that was easy enough to do.

It was radio silence again for a while. Then, out of nowhere, Fistfight had felt an intense amount of pain in his processor. It was the type of pain he had felt only once before, no more than two years ago… and when it had happened then, he knew exactly what it had meant.

It meant that Shockwave had died.

And now, he had “died” again.

Fistfight’s spark had already begun to fill with dread as he braced himself for the inevitable. He counted down the seconds. Then the minutes. Then the hours.

Nothing.

Did he dare allow himself to relax? Was his so-called “master” well and truly dead? Was he finally gone for good? Surely he dared not do so much as hope…

But then hours became days. Days became weeks. Weeks became months. Still there was nothing. Eventually, he forgot all about the ordeal and settled back into what he considered to be the “new normal” of his life.

And then, one day, out of the blue, he heard it. Just as he hoped he wouldn’t.

“Fistfight,” the voice of his master had said. “You know what to do.”

So much for a new normal.

At first, he did not know what he needed to do. But because his and Shockwave’s minds were now one in this moment, it meant that he did in fact know exactly what to do.

It was easy enough to sneak past the Junkions; since arriving on Earth, they had become practically glued to whatever functioning television devices they could get their hands on and letting their brain modules rot from whatever broadcasts they picked up. Their most recent obsession was some human singer whom they swore to be the “sacred voice of Weirrall”—whatever that was supposed to mean. But it at least meant that they did not notice Fistfight as he rolled past them and entered the section of the junkyard where they had stashed away some of their most prized possessions. It didn’t take long before he was able to find a makeshift container which carried a pulsating green spark.

It was ironic, Fistfight idly thought. He had spent several days trying to avoid the Junkions as they had tried to stuff the spark into his body. Now he was taking it from them to do just that (in a manner of speaking).

After checking over his shoulder to make sure the Junkions were still distracted (they really were obsessed with that television), he sped out of the junkyard, moving as fast as his treads could take him. Night had fallen and the junkyard’s human overseer had long since retired for the day, meaning that even he wasn’t on the lookout for the Decepticon escapee. Fistfight’s treads picked up dirt and grass as he rolled across the barren land that laid beyond the junkyard, not stopping until it was well and far behind him. Then, he extended an antenna from his cranial unit, and sent out the signal.

The next few minutes passed by without event. Then, in a flash of light, three Cybertronians appeared before him. Standing in the center of the trio was a mech with the build of a Seeker, plated in silver and red. He looked around for a moment before casting his gaze down at Fistfight.

“Oh,” Windtrail said bitterly. “It’s you.”

“Yeah, yeah, save the doting admiration for later,” Fistfight grumbled. “Look, don’t ask any questions or else you’ll mess up the timestream. Just take me to the base in the Laurentian Abyss.”

“Aw, did Shockwave not give you a little Ground Bridge projector to carry around,” mocked the Vehicon known as Fearstorm, still in the black and violet armor plating he bore three years ago. “I didn’t realize we had signed up to babysit his Mini-Con.”

“You signed up to follow his orders and this is one of them: Take me to the Laurentian Abyss now.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Windtrail bent down and picked up Fistfight, hoisting him up onto his shoulder. His optics then fell on the container in Fistfight’s claws. “Say, what’s in the—?”

“I just said don’t ask questions. Now come on, let’s get moving already!”

“Okay, okay. Sheesh, and you wonder why no one likes you.”

Windtrail then initiated his Transwarp drive, and in an instant the barren fields of South Dakota became the slightly decayed metal interior of Shockwave’s undersea base in the Laurentian Abyss. Windtrail set Fistfight down and the small purple bot rolled over to the base’s main console. He then rotated his head to look at the trio.

“All right, thanks. That’s all I needed. Now carry on with your mission and pretend you didn’t see me.”

Windtrail rolled his optics. “Whatever, weirdo. Tell Shockwave that he should pay us double if we’re gonna have to be your ferry service.”

It took everything in Fistfight’s power to not tell Windtrail that he was going to die. Instead, he waved a claw at the trio as they teleported away. He then rotated his head back around and looked down at the container in his grasp.

“All right, we’re here. Now what?”

As he awaited a response from the voice in his head, he detected another flash of light from behind him. He turned around to see the third member of Windtrail’s group—the ever silent Viral—standing there. Not only was he without the other two, but he also looked a lot more worse for wear than he had just been moments ago. Clearly this Viral was from a more recent time, if not the present day, and the last time Fistfight had seen him had been back at the Autobot Mausoleum… under circumstances not too dissimilar from this.

History really did repeat itself, especially when time travel was concerned.

Unable to conjure up any sort of witty comment, Fistfight could only greet Viral with a simple, “Hi.”

“I knew it.” Viral’s voice was no louder than a whisper. “I should have known that there were more lies.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what you get for hanging around Decepticons,” Fistfight said. “And being one, for that matter.”

“The box. I didn’t think of the box. All this time, it was the blasted box.”

“Uh-huh. Look, if you’re just gonna stand around and be creepy, do it somewhere else. I’ve got work to do.”

“He’s in your head, isn’t he?” Viral took a step forward, hunched over so that his blade-like arms scraped the ground. “That’s how he came back the first time, wasn’t it? He talks to you. Gives you directions.”

Fistfight held up a claw. “Okay, I’m gonna need you to stay away from me. I have no idea where you’ve been or what sort of simultronics you’ve been taking, but—”

“Do you never question it? Do you never stop and wonder why you heed his every word? Do you never think about just… shutting him out?”

“Oh, wouldn’t that be the dream. But unfortunately, I don’t have much of a choice. Unlike you. Why don’t you take that time machine of yours and frag off for good already?”

“You think I haven’t already tried?!” Viral raised his voice to a near shriek, startling Fistfight and nearly causing him to drop the container. “When I killed him back in Verenya, I had attempted to use my Transwarp drive to make things right. To make the smallest of changes in the past to create a better future. To undo the madness that he has wrought upon us. But it was all for naught. I quickly realized—saw with my own optics—that his very actions have made our reality into one that is eating itself inside out.”

Fistfight shook his head. “I’m not even going to pretend to make sense of that. You time travelers have got all sorts of issues that I just don’t want any part in. Now, I’m going to ask you one last time to go away and let me do my work.”

“Then you are complicit in our universe’s undoing.” Viral sighed as he extended a blade from each of his arms. “Very well, then.”

He moved to lunge at Fistfight. In an instant, his entire body stiffened and he froze in place, the tip of his bladed arm inches away from plunging directly into Fistfight’s head. The smaller bot then slowly rolled away and looked up at the stasis field that had dropped around Viral’s body, courtesy of the base’s automated defenses.

“I personally would have just blown him to pieces, but whatever,” Fistfight muttered.

“He may still be of use to us,” the voice of Shockwave spoke in his mind. “Or rather, his Transwarp drive will be.”

“Sure. I still think that is the worse invention in all of Cybertronian history.”

“Debatable. Nonetheless, it will be an indispensable tool for our plans.”

“Your plans, you mean. I haven’t the foggiest idea about what you’ve got brewing in that cross-wired processor of yours.”

“No matter. Right now, we must focus on one priority at a time. Presently, our first priority is to upload my consciousness into a new body. There should still be a remaining drone body in this outpost.”

“You mean the one with the lousy alt mode? Yeah, yeah, I’ve got you.” Fistfight looked down at the container. “And what about this?”

“An asset to be saved for later, when the time is right.”

Fistfight huffed in exasperation, unable to hide his annoyance any longer. “Do you ever wonder why people hate you, Shockwave? Because this is exactly why.”

“Their evaluations of my person are irrelevant. All that matters is the success of my operations, which will only benefit Cybertron in the long-term.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve been saying stuff like that for the last, what, three to four thousand years? And so far you haven’t made much—” Before Fistfight could finish that thought, he noticed a light blinking on the main computer. He rolled over to the console and switched it on; miraculously, after years of disuse, it was still operational.

“Huh,” he said as he viewed the display. “Well, speaking of transwarp drives, it looks like someone else made a jump somewhere here on Earth.” He cocked his head to the side, readjusting his optical sensors as he did a double-take. “And maybe it’s just me, but I think I recognize that signal…”

“Intriguing,” Shockwave said as he looked through his minion’s eyes. “It would appear the Sigma Project was more of a success than I had initially assessed.”

“Yeah, and now I’m starting to get a sense of deja vu, or whatever the humans call it.” Fistfight shook his head. “I’m going to take a wild guess that you’re gonna want to keep an eye on this as well.”

“It is only logical. But again, one priority at a time. Once I have fully returned to the physical form, I will be able to assess the current situation and decide what steps to take to preserve the future of Cybertron. No matter what obstacles we face, history shall vindicate my actions… that much, I am certain.”

INTO THE CYBERVERSE

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.

Star Wars Destinies Retold: This Evil Reborn, Prologue

    This is a continuation of my extensive rewrite of Destiny I: The New Republic, which began with From the Ashes.

PROLOGUE

 Jakku, thirty years ago

“Wait up, Galli! Wait up!”

The boy did not listen to his friend as he trudged through the sands, keeping the cloths wrapped around his face tight as he marched across the desert. The heat of the sun bore down on him and he was already becoming fatigued by the time he was halfway towards the Plaintive Hand plateau. But still he marched on, determined to reach his destination.

Atop the outcropping of flat rock was a spacecraft unlike any he had seen before on Jakku. There were plenty of vessels that came in and out of Niima Outpost, but they were typically freighters; worn down ships occupied by shady smugglers or dangerous bounty hunters. But this ship was different. It had an elegant look to it, almost regal. Its hull was sleek and silver, its sheen reflecting the blazing sun back into Galli’s eyes. Its color scheme was broken up by red accents and highlights, the most prominent being the nearly-opaque canopy of the cockpit. Its wings were angled and swept back, making it look like a vast predatory bird ready to take off at any moment.

He had no idea what kind of ship it was or where it had came from. But it called to him. It spoke his name.

He wasn’t sure how he had managed it, or how long it had taken, but he had eventually made it to the top of the plateau and was now standing in the shadow of the ship. Several hours must have passed, he realized, as the sun was already beginning to set, heralding the cold of night. He slumped against one of the landing gears, suddenly tired and weak from his deadly trek.

The sound of voices jolted him back to his senses and his dark eyes searched for a hiding spot. He realized that the landing ramp of the ship was lowered, providing him with an opening into the vessel. He looked around for anyone nearby; the voices were drawing nearer but he could not see anyone. Deciding to take the risk, he made a dash for the ramp, his long legs carrying him up the lowered platform. He quickly scoured for a place to hide himself and soon found a compartment that was just barely large enough to fit him.

As he closed himself up into the small compartment, he idly wondered about his friend, whether he had gone back to Niima Outpost to get help. It had never crossed his mind to go back for him and bring him along in his daring escape from this dustball of a planet. He was only concerned for himself and his own wellbeing.

He was going to get off Jakku, no matter what, with or without his friend. He was never going to come back to this planet again.

Within just three minutes of him stowing himself away, he heard the voices grow nearer and nearer, until soon they were just outside his hiding spot. He heard someone raise the landing ramp and he pressed his ear to the wall in order to discern the words they were speaking.

“…begin work immediately,” one voice was saying, belonging to a man. “My only concern is how we will be able to procure the funds without raising suspicion from the Senate.”

“That is no concern,” said a second voice, another man who sounded older and wiser. “I still have frozen assets belonging to my old master that should be able to suffice. The Senate will oblivious to anything happening.”

“Excellent. Is there anything else that needs to be done here?”

“Oh, there is one thing. I don’t suppose it will hurt to leave some of the excavation droids behind to begin work ahead of schedule? Just to ensure that this site is indeed viable for our needs.”

“Of course, my lord. I shall see to it at once.”

Galli heard the sound of movement and his heart caught in his throat as he heard the sound of compartments opening. He then heard the landing ramp lowered again as one of the two men disembarked from the ship. The ramp then raised back up and there was silence for a time.

Then, the second man spoke. “You can come out now.”

Without warning, the hatch to the compartment he was hiding in flew open and he fell out, landing hard onto the deck of the ship. He turned over on his back and stared up at the old man standing over him. Dressed in black robes, with a hood raised over his head, yellow eyes bore down at him as harshly as the sun. Yet when the man spoke, his voice was as cold as ice.

“Did your parents never teach you not to stowaway on strangers’ ships?”

Galli drew himself up, getting up onto his feet, although he was still only a head shorter than the old man. “I don’t have any parents,” he said lamely. “I’m an orphan.”

“Ah. So no one would miss you if you were to die?”

The boy swallowed, his throat feeling parched and it wasn’t just because of thirst. “Are you going to kill me?”

“That depends. How adamant are you on staying aboard this ship?”

Galli squared his shoulders, his dark eyes meeting the old man’s yellow irises. “I don’t want to stay here. I hate it here. I want to leave Jakku and never come back.”

“You’re hardly the only one to carry that sentiment.” The man inclined his head forward and Galli resisted the urge to shrink away in fear. “Tell me, boy; why should I care about your desires? What gives them priority over that of anyone else’s?”

To that, Galli had no answer. His jaw worked for a response but none came. The old man continued to stare at him as he slowly extended a pale hand towards him. The boy braced himself for the worse, only to be surprised when the hand landed softly on his shoulder.

“You have two choices here, my friend,” the old man said, his voice quieter yet still just as harsh. “You can either stay on this ship, in which case you will die… or you can leave, and live.”

Galli felt himself beginning to tremble but still he did not look away. He refused to show fear, even if it was plastered all over his face. “Then kill me,” he said, his voice shaking. “The life I have is not one I wish to live any longer, and if I can’t have anything better than that… then I would rather have death.”

He cursed himself for the tears that were beginning to stream down his face. The old man continued to look down at him… and then, slowly, he smiled.

“My boy,” he said, now speaking as if he were a kind grandfather. “I am already offering you a better life by letting you leave this ship. Better than anything you could possibly imagine.”

Galli blinked as he stared back at him. “W-what do you mean?”

“The work I am doing here on Jakku is of the utmost importance. The fate of the galaxy hinges on its success. If you step back outside, you will have the significant task of ensuring that success. There are excavation droids hard at work now as we speak, and it will be your mission to make sure they do not falter in their task.”

“Excavation droids? What are they excavating?”

“That is not for you to know. Not yet, at least.” The old man smiled at him, but it was not a smile that filled the boy with warmth. “If you do decide to take on this task, then you will follow it to the utmost of your ability. Should you fail or become lazy—and trust me, I will know—then you will have wished you had died here and now. But…” He raised a long, bony finger. “Should you perform your job well, then I will return for you and you will be able to see the rest of the galaxy and live the life you have dreamed of.”

Galli swallowed. “How long will that be?”

“The future is always in motion… but I can give an estimate of five years. In five years, I will return to Jakku and pass judgment on your work. Until then, you will remain here and make sure the droids do their work.” The old man then lowered his hand from Galli’s shoulder. “The choice is yours. Make it wisely.”

Galli closed his eyes as he weighed his options… but truly, it did not take him long at all to make up his mind. It was almost as if the choice had already been made for him.

Before long, he was standing at the edge of the Plaintive Hand, watching as the mysterious ship took off into the sky, carrying its two passengers into the stars he so longed to see for himself. But one day, he would.

Soon, he told himself. Soon.