A Living Nightmare

  Chapter 21: Slaughterhouse

  “Remember, the Dark Side is not real. It is an aspect of yourselves that the Jedi are too scared to acknowledge. Through power, our own power. We gain victory.”

  Date: 5 BBY

  Location: Omereth- Lower City

  Omereth had worn me thin.

  Weeks spent hiding under the false identity of Lane Torral, a low-level security officer eking out a living at a retrofitting shop in the grimy industrial depths of the planet. Hal adapted seamlessly to his role, finding comfort in routine, while each passing day frayed my nerves further. Patience had never been my strength. At least Agent Farrkus—the ISB operative I'd encountered during that mission on Nar Shadda—had remembered me. Given the chaos of our previous encounter, I doubted he could forget easily. He had thoughtfully provided me with a Mk. 5 Verpine Ocular Enhancer, a convincing cover for my Force Sight. The doctored medical records detailing a near-fatal speeder accident from Lane Torral's antic filled youth further solidified my alibi, making slipping into my new identity smoother. Super good glasses in Star Wars that nobody would bat an eyelash at if they heard the story. Still, the mundane grind of blending in wore heavily on me, each day a test of my dwindling restraint. I was never one for mundane day to days.

  We'd come here originally chasing the initial reports of rebel cells stockpiling stolen Imperial munitions, hoping to track the flow of weapons and starfighter parts that had mysteriously vanished from official shipments. But the trail had grown cold almost immediately, leaving only vague hints and loose rumors—too insignificant to form any meaningful lead. The lack of meaningful progress was maddening.

  One dim evening, long after our exhausting shift had ended, Hal and I dragged ourselves into our usual haunt—a seedy cantina named the Rusted Rascal. The scent of lingering vapors and stale alcohol hung thick in the dimly lit rooms, illuminated sporadically by flickering neon signs advertising drinks in Basic and several alien languages. We nodded in weary acknowledgment toward Rell, the elderly Rodian bartender we’d grown familiar with, before slumping into our usual booth near the back corner. Around us, the cantina buzzed quietly with whispered conversations, the occasional burst of coarse laughter punctuating the air. Hal leaned across our cluttered table, now scattered with empty plates that had once held surprisingly well-made food—a key reason we frequented the Rusted Rascal despite its questionable clientele—and half-drunk cups of bitter caf. We had just ordered another round, Hal smiling and winking flirtatiously at the waitress as she took our plates away. I could sense his underlying discomfort, knowing he wasn't genuinely into the act but was committed to maintaining his cover. As I watched him turn back, his eyes were shadowed, thoughtful, as he spoke.

  “We could sell the droid,” he said casually, swirling his drink and watching me carefully for a reaction.

  I paused, mid-bite, savoring the flavors of my meal before narrowing my senses. “Excuse me?”

  Hal's lips quirked slightly in amusement. “HK’s cooped up on the Scythe, probably planning to murder us out of boredom. We could pawn him off, give him access to their systems—let him get us something concrete.”

  A distorted voice crackled angrily through the hidden comm in my earpiece. “Objection: I am not some second-hand junkyard scrap to be bartered away! Have you no respect for dignity or proper assassination protocols?”

  Hal chuckled softly. “Dignity? You’re a murderous antique rolling around on squeaky wheels. You’re lucky we haven’t scrapped you already.”

  I smirked despite myself, taking another slow bite of food as I considered the proposal. “Actually, he might be onto something.” I leaned in conspiratorially, sensing Hal’s growing anticipation. “If HK plays the part of another brainless astromech, he could infiltrate their network. No risk for us, and he might finally be useful.”

  “Indignant Response: Preposterous!” HK fumed. “To reduce myself to acting as a mindless beep-and-booper? Utter humiliation! The very thought is—”

  I grinned, tapping my earpiece to silence him. “It’ll never work, right?”

  Hal glanced around cautiously before meeting my gaze again. “When would you want to try it?”

  I chewed thoughtfully, weighing the pros and cons briefly before impatience got the better of me. “When were you thinking?”

  “Tonight,” Hal said firmly, eyes intense and serious.

  I sighed, acknowledging my own restlessness. “Alright. Lemme finish this shit real quick, okay?”

  That same night, exhaustion already settling heavily into our bones, we stood in the cramped storeroom that doubled as Yagrik's office, a small, cluttered desk wedged into one corner near the shop doors, topped by a dusty data terminal blinking softly in the dim lighting, the walls seeming tighter than ever beneath harsh fluorescent lights. The air felt thicker, tainted by grease and mistrust. Yagrik, the bloated, tentacle-faced Quarren manager, circled HK-47’s polished astromech chassis slowly, his slimy hands twitching with obvious irritation at being forced to deal with us so late. It was only the start of his third nightly shift, but he clearly resented the interruption to whatever routine he'd hoped to settle into.

  “Where’d you get this droid?” His deep, wet voice was filled with suspicion and intrigue, echoing softly in the cramped storeroom.

  “Family heirloom,” I lied smoothly, adopting the weary tone of a desperate man. “Insurance, you know? But money's tight. I’m looking for four thousand credits. He’s worth more, but…”

  The alien twitched his facial tentacles thoughtfully, his deep-set, watery eyes studying HK with suspicion. “Looks stolen. Too clean, too high-end for someone like you.”

  I shrugged, feigning irritation. “It's an R2 unit, I'm not an idiot, Yagrik. No R2 unit is high-end. Credits now, questions never.”

  He hesitated, then thrust out his damp, tentacled hand. “Fine. Deal.”

  The moment his hand closed around mine, HK’s synthesized voice crackled sharply with disdain. “Objection: Four thousand credits? Such a paltry sum is a grievous insult! Even in this deplorable astromech chassis, I remain a finely tuned instrument of assassination—far beyond the feeble comprehension of you pathetic meatbags.”

  A sudden, sharp silence smothered the room. The Aqualish’s eyes widened in shock and fear, his hand darting toward his blaster.

  HK didn’t hesitate. A blue spark flashed from his chassis as his shock prod lashed out, stunning the alien into a trembling heap.

  I instinctively reached for my hidden lightsaber, feeling the reassuring grip beneath my fingertips, but hesitated as Hal tackled the disoriented manager, pinning him roughly against the filthy floor, his blaster pressed firmly to the Aqualish’s temple.

  “No sudden moves,” Hal growled, voice ice-cold.

  “Get into his terminal, HK,” I snapped, regaining control of the situation. “Pull whatever data you can find on Fulcrum and their operations.”

  The alien laughed bitterly, wheezing despite the gun to his head. “Idiots. There’s no rebels here!”

  HK chirped with amusement. “Correction: This Fulcrum character has clearly designated your pathetic little group as the Gilgalar Cell. How delightfully treacherous of you.”

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  A holographic recording flickered to life from the terminal, casting Yagrik’s frightened face into pale blue relief. Opposite him stood a figure, obscured by a hooded cloak, the voice distorted to hide identity.

  “How soon can you have everything ready, Yagrik?” the hooded figure asked calmly, voice modulated yet commanding.

  “Shipments are nearly assembled,” Yagrik responded nervously. “We'll have them ready for transport within the month. Nagiri is still the drop point?”

  “Yes. Our mutual friend Arnev will be handling distribution once it arrives,” the figure said reassuringly. “Arnev will be pleased to see you again. Your contributions haven't gone unnoticed, Yagrik, but do be careful. The Empire is vigilant.”

  Yagrik nodded fervently. “Understood. We'll take every precaution.”

  The recording ended abruptly. I turned sharply toward HK. “How recent is this?”

  “Exactly twenty-eight standard days ago, Master,” HK answered immediately.

  A spark of excitement ignited within me. “Then let's get out of here before—”

  Alarms shattered the air, shrill and piercing, cutting me off mid-sentence. I sensed hostility erupting across the facility, the swirling energies of panicked and aggressive combatants beginning to move in chaotic response.

  “Oh, fantastic,” Hal muttered grimly.

  The Aqualish sneered, sensing victory. “You’ll never leave here alive.”

  I ignited my backup lightsaber, the brilliant green blade illuminating his terrified face. “I prefer living. You, however, won't have that luxury. Enjoy rotting in whatever hells await you, you ugly ass squid.”

  Hal’s blaster barked sharply, silencing the aliens maw permanently. The door to the storeroom abruptly burst open, and a rebel staggered inside, eyes wide in confusion as he saw Yagrik’s lifeless body sprawled across the floor. Before he could utter a question, Hal moved with precise, ruthless efficiency, sending a blaster bolt into his chest and dropping him instantly.

  We moved quickly, surging out into the main facility. Hal led us swiftly toward cover, ducking behind barrels, bins, and towering stacks of scrap metal that littered the shop floor. The facility stretched around us—several sprawling levels connected by precarious walkways of rusted metal, offices precariously perched along the edges, and massive hangars filled with machinery in varying states of disrepair.

  HK’s voice gleefully announced over the rising din, “Observation: Approximately ninety-seven hostiles remaining. Delightfully poor accuracy, though still numerically problematic.”

  I surged forward, guided by the Force, slicing effortlessly through two rebels foolish enough to charge head-on. My lightsaber hummed sharply, the emerald blade casting stark reflections on the rust-streaked metal walls as I cut them down. Around me, bolts flew in all directions, many sizzling harmlessly past, others deflected by my rapid blade movements. The intensity of the battle magnified every sense, every breath, every heartbeat.

  Hal moved alongside me with newfound confidence, his accuracy significantly improved from the weeks of tireless practice we’d put in. He kept himself positioned strategically, picking off rebels who appeared on catwalks overhead or from concealed doorways. Each shot he took was deliberate, measured, and precise, never wasting ammunition or time. He called out enemy positions with remarkable calmness despite the chaos.

  “Three above, on your left!” Hal shouted, firing swiftly and precisely, each bolt finding its mark and sending the rebels tumbling from their elevated positions.

  Acknowledging him with a quick nod, I extended my hand from behind cover, reaching out through the Force. Two rebels who had taken positions behind sturdy crates suddenly found themselves floating helplessly above their hiding spot, exposed and panicking. Hal’s blaster barked sharply, dropping them before they could even shout for help.

  HK maneuvered with a surprising level of agility despite his astromech chassis, weaving smoothly through the chaos. His shock prod lashed out at enemies who strayed too close, delivering incapacitating jolts of electricity. He moved purposefully from cover point to cover point, accessing terminals rapidly with his scomp-link. Each slice was performed with arrogant efficiency, sealing off corridors, isolating rebel groups, and venting entire sections to space with grim effectiveness.

  “Statement: Master, the enemy forces are attempting to regroup. Allow me to make their efforts significantly more challenging.” HK interfaced with another terminal, and with a mechanical hiss, multiple retractable bridges detached abruptly from their sockets. Rebels scrambled desperately as their escape routes vanished beneath them, sending them screaming into the darkness below.

  In the heart of battle, HK located another terminal and interfaced with it rapidly, unleashing the facility's automated defense systems. Industrial laser cutters ignited along the ceiling and walls, slicing through rebels with precise brutality. The lasers danced in lethal patterns, methodically clearing our path. Sparks and embers filled the air as their fiery trails carved through the metal walkways, sending enemies plummeting into the darkness below.

  Together, we formed a seamless unit—a trio of precision violence. Despite the growing exhaustion that clawed at my limbs and blurred my senses, I immersed myself fully in the surge of battle, drawing strength from the Dark Side to keep fatigue at bay. Every swing of my blade became more effortless, each kill further fueling the darkness within. The fear radiating from the enemy was palpable, intoxicating; I drank it in, growing stronger with every moment.

  The facility became a swirling storm of panic and desperation, and yet we pressed on relentlessly, carving through the defenders with ruthless efficiency. Hal continued his precise assault, HK mercilessly manipulated the facility’s defenses, and I, guided by the Force, orchestrated our attacks seamlessly. We advanced through the facility methodically, dismantling enemy positions, overwhelming their frantic attempts to resist until we finally confronted the last line of defense—a group barricaded near an elevator shaft.

  At the heart of their formation stood a bomber, fear evident in his trembling hands, a proton torpedo core strapped securely to his chest.

  “Stay back!” he shouted, voice cracking with fear and resolve. Sweat glistened on his forehead, his eyes wide with desperation, darting between Hal and me. “The Empire dies today! I'll take you all down with me if I have to!”

  “Don't be stupid,” Hal growled, keeping his blaster steady, aimed precisely at the bomber’s head. “Nobody else needs to die.”

  The rebel’s breathing grew ragged, his chest heaving rapidly beneath the makeshift explosive strapped tightly to his torso. “We’re already dead. You took everything from us!” he spat back, anger and terror mingling in his strained voice.

  “We can discuss this,” I said carefully, extending a calming hand as I reached out subtly with the Force, hoping to influence his panic-ridden mind. “There’s always another way—”

  HK interrupted with a mechanical sigh. “Interjection: Oh, please. Such tedious dramatics. If you wish to immolate yourself, do so promptly. Time wasted on pointless speeches irritates my circuits.”

  The rebel’s eyes bulged at HK’s remark, shock quickly overtaken by rage and hopelessness. With a terrified, anguished scream, he squeezed the trigger of the deadman’s switch.

  I reacted instinctively, reaching out through the Force, capturing the explosive fury in a bubble of pure energy, compressing, containing the blast. Heat and pain filled my senses, but my focus held until only ash remained.

  Drained, I sank to my knees, struggling for breath. My Force Sight blurred, the world around me doubling and shimmering like reflections on disturbed water. The swirling energies of the surviving rebels seemed to shift, splitting momentarily before coalescing back into their rightful places, disorienting me even further. I shook my head, attempting to clear my senses, but the dizziness clung stubbornly, leaving me vulnerable and exposed.

  Hal’s voice echoed distantly. “Drop your weapons!”

  The rebels, shattered by witnessing the impossible, obeyed instantly. The sound of their weapons hitting the ground filled the corridor like a cascading waterfall, each metallic clang reverberating painfully through my skull and disorienting my already blurred senses even further.

  I staggered forward, hearing the elevator doors open with a quiet hiss, reaching out with the Force to grasp the discarded blasters scattered across the floor. With what meager strength remained, I pulled them along behind me, the scraping metal echoing harshly, further fraying my already tenuous hold on consciousness. No need to leave the rebels any chance of reclaiming their weapons.

  “Local security will arrive shortly to process them,” Hal remarked quietly, his voice steady despite the chaos we'd just survived.

  I corrected him, my voice soft. “No, Hal. They won’t.” With a heavy breath, I raised my hand, using the last remnants of my strength to lift the blasters into the air, their barrels trembling but aimed precisely where they needed to.

  One rebel realized my intention too late, his voice rising in a desperate plea. “Wait, please! You don’t have to—!” His words were cut short as blasterfire erupted simultaneously from the weapons I'd gathered. The sharp reports filled the air, echoing brutally within the confined corridor.

  Bodies crumpled to the floor in near unison, their lifeless forms collapsing like marionettes whose strings had been severed. The weapons clattered down afterward, falling in a disorderly heap at the foot of the elevator. HK laughed delightedly, a sharp and genuinely pleased sound that resonated deeply in my fading awareness. “Admiration: Magnificent work, Master! Your willingness to dispose of enemies decisively is most impressive. Truly, I find myself fortunate to serve one such as yourself.”

  The elevator jerked into motion, rapidly ascending, and I stumbled backward, the sudden movement intensifying my vertigo. My shoulder slammed painfully against the elevator’s rear wall, the cold metal a stark contrast to the heat burning through my veins. I vaguely registered Hal lunging forward, shouting something urgent, but his words dissolved into meaningless noise as my vision darkened completely and unconsciousness claimed me.