Shay tilted her head back, letting the light misting of water drifting down from the darkening sky dampen her face. The blanket of stormclouds had yet to tuck in the western horizon, leaving a reddened sun to spill the long shadows of evening upon the ground. From the east came a breeze sharp with ionization, promising the far coming storm would be a significant one. For now, though, only a mild sprinkle troubled the atmosphere.

Taking a stroll through a small park near the Theed spaceport had been a spur of the moment idea, one not at all daunted by the looming prospect of rain. The local residents might seek shelter indoors from the the gentle shower, but the Sentinel had no qualms about her hair or clothes getting wet. The long leather jacket she wore kept most of her body—and her weapons—dry; this left any potential 'damage' the rain could cause in the realm of the purely cosmetic. Neither Shay nor Brin were terribly vain women, so they discarded the concern as irrelevant.

She spent so much of her time either underground or in hyperspace transit these days. The Jedi Master relished any opportunity to breathe air which hadn't been scrubbed and recycled a thousand times over. Doing so on a planet as full of life as Naboo made the experience all the more delightful. The natural currents of the Living Force flowing and swirling around her refreshed her spirit in a way few things could.

Indulging in personal whims for a while seemed to the Sentinel fair payment for the successful completion of her earlier business. Well, Shay supposed it would be more accurate to say Brin's business, as Master Marin had donned this favorite persona of hers for the trip. Her alternate identity made the perfect unassuming cover for the mission.

The Telosian 'independent contractor' had legally transported several crates of extremely delicate—and in some cases extremely classified—electronic equipment to a local import/export outfit. A front for the resident Alliance cell, they'd not only given her some sensitive data to carry in her brain back to Loran, but had also hired her to take a shipment of medical supplies to Denon.

As that cargo would be all the Confederate blockade would find when they inevitably searched her ship, 'Brin' shouldn't have any trouble acquiring clearance to land. Once there, she could attempt to suss out the location and status of the gone to ground rebel cell. Not so much as a radar blip of intel had come out of the system in months, and the Director needed answers yesterday as to whether any of his people had survived the Confederate crackdown.

However, those matters—while important—all related to the future. Shay found herself facing more than plenty to deal with in the present. To be specific, she needed to find out who the frack had been tailing her this long. By her internal clock, her shadow had been skulking about not-so-gracefully in the growing shadows for the past twenty minutes.

With her Force signature dampened so as to not attract attention from any other Jedi—or Cultists—who might be in the area, she couldn't pin down the identity of her stalker for certain. There was a vague buzz of danger emanating from him or her, an intent to do harm which had not yet crystallized into an immediate drive to strike. And something else vibrated below the interference of antagonism, a sour note of not quite right with the sentient themselves.

A puzzle to tease the truth from later on, Shay counseled herself, bringing her head back into its proper position and resuming her walk down the well manicured pathway. Curiosity possessed many merits, but she couldn't become focused on the 'why' over the 'what' and 'how'. For now she would pretend not to notice her tail and await the inevitable confrontation. She trusted in the Force to warn her when it came.

At last a world that wasn’t just a sprawling city or a wretched hive of scum and villainy. Garlan had been hankering for a job that didn’t involve the monotonous march of skyscrapers into the horizon or the hiss and purr of cars. The smooth lines of Naboo’s architecture were soothing. They reminded him much of the buildings on Tatooine, he had taken a bounty there some time ago. Roofs Naboo were domed, flawlessly smooth like the curves of a young, voluptuous woman. Garlan pictured himself a giant, stroking the sides and tops of massive structures occupying loyalty. Letting his fingers slide and caress the golden brown tops like a gentle lover. He wanted to live in those places. To fix it, clean it, to raise a family in it like a normal person. If he could, he would live in a flawlessly smooth dome house like those on Tatooine. Thinking back to those underground living spaces somehow gave him a feeling of peace, and for a moment he was calm.

Standing beneath an arcade he had his hand placed against the inside of one of the arches. It was cool to the touch and helped sooth his aching hands. His eyes were on the rooftops of buildings but his mind no longer focused on them. Instead his thoughts were blank. Like the sheets of an unwritten story he flicked through his mental notebook and didn’t find much. The occasional flash of memory from his youth and the periodic bounty cropped its way in but there was nothing else. Garlan tried to make sense of how he had come to this point in his life, to this very second under the clouds threatening to disgorge their cargo onto the heads of passerby.

You’re getting too philosophical, Garlan warned himself. Get your shit together. It was true that he did get a little too deep in his thinking just before pouncing on a bounty. But perhaps it was the strange circumstances in which he had been contacted. A brief communiqué and few pieced together words had denoted the amount of pay and where to pick it up once the job was done. Once he agreed the target’s name was given and Garlan was proffered more information. Now it had come to the climax of the chase.

Garlan had tailed this ‘Brin’ for over twenty minutes. Keeping a close eye on her movements, the way she walked. The young bounty hunter could tell a lot about a person just from their walk. Brin had a way about her, a stride that denoted experience and great intelligence. Garlan touched the hilt of one of his machetes, strapped under either of his arms and hidden by his storm coat. Something had upset his stomach suddenly and his instinct was telling him to run. But it wasn’t his foresight speaking it was the landlord, neutron pixie.

The glittering cloud of toxin that occupied his addiction was pounding on the door and screaming at him to run. Pixie wasn’t the greatest of friends. He lent the occasional hand when moving a couch but afterwards he lit the couch on fire and watched your house burn with it. Garlan had been calling him more and more as of late in order to get through the bad days. He had more than couches to move and he needed more and more to help move the chest of drawers.

Garlan left the arcade just as the few opening droplets of rain pattered down on the smooth buildings, like someone flicking water off the tips of their fingers because there weren’t any towels left. Garlan liked the rain. It felt a certain attachment to it. He liked the smell of it, the feel and the manner in which is distorted the world. Made it into shades of grey and muted tones. It echoed in his soul a day in which man and alien kind were still hiding in caves and trees. When the world was stone, tree and water and great creatures walked the planet. A state of refreshment or rebirth, perhaps recreation, which was the more profound Garlan wasn’t sure. He had never read a book beyond an instruction manual in his life.

Pursuing his quarry he left the comfort of the veranda and moved out into the street. He ran along, noticing Brin had stepped into an adjoining pathway. Little travelled, he knew the area well enough to figure this was a fine ambush point. Pull his coat around him he ran across the street to the building on the other side. Jogging now he tore through the inner courtyard that opened on three sides, one to the pathway, another to the street he just came off and the last to the river front on the far side. The courtyard had flowers and benches and was open to the sky through a crisscrossing grating. Ignoring the scenery he slowed to the quick trot, then stopped in the Romanesque archway on the side of the pathway. Garlan stood in the shadows his coat drawn around him and his eyes goggled behind black glass. With beetle eyes he watched Brin pass, then moved out onto the path behind her, slowly drawing out a blade from its beaten leather scabbard.

Garlan could feel his teeth lengthen and his eyes become lupine as he stalked his hapless prey. The weapon in his hand extending into an enormous claw, ready to strike the target down like a bear swatting a fish. His face sneered reflexively, drawing the muscles in his face into a snarl. Garlan’s nose sniffed the air and picked up the woman’s scent. With one swift motion he swung out and up with his right arm, a vibro weapon clasped in his dirty hand. Already his left hand was reaching for the second blade concealed in his jacket.

Naboo's home star continued towards its nightly death, the lowest elevations soon bereft of its light. On the tallest towers, the golden glow cast on brown granite and verdigris metal shaded to rose and then red. Water continued spattering down from the sky in irregular staccato patterns. Other than the rain, little sound existed in the greenwatch. On occasion a bird would warble out a melancholy note, but for the most part they'd followed the humanoids' example and taken to shelter and bed.

Shay gave her would-be assailant some credit: twilight worked well as a time to attack your target. Most sentients didn't become concerned for their surroundings until after full nightfall. In addition, the lengthening shadows and uncertain illumination played tricks on the eyes, easing the task of finding a backdrop to blend into. His tactics might be rudimentary from her perspective, but they existed.

To any outside observer, Brin Trell paid little attention to the lush gardenscape she walked through. A sharp crease between her brows hinted at a level of internal distraction. Both thumbs hooked into the hip pockets of her nerfhide overcoat, exposed fingers tapping out the occasional subliminal message to herself.

The Jedi Investigator submerged beneath the mercenary's facade did not suffer from a similar lack of awareness. Amber eyes did remain fixed on the flower bordered pathway ahead, but Shay did not require organs of crude matter to view the greater world around her. Through the Force she could know the shape of every leaf, stone, and creature in the garden. All she had to do was reach out and touch without touching, see without sight, hear without sound.

Everything connected with everything else; this was one of the first and most fundamental lessons ingrained in Initiates. The tightening of the link between the Jedi and her erstwhile shadow pulled on other 'threads' of potential in turn, which would later affect yet more, and onwards and outwards until it became possible for the fate of the entire universe to be at the mercy of a single choice made by mortal hands.

Her stalker's continued pursuit cut a path through the coursing currents of life, perturbing their flow. From the wake came ripples of anticipation, eagerness, a lust for violence—all sentiments Shay expected from one who wished to do her harm. Yet there was more, a layer of disquiet coloring all intentions beneath like a sheen of oil on water. She couldn't read this mess of melting and melding hues yet, which promised a high amount of unpredictability in the coming encounter.

Closer her hunter came, though not by a direct route. The fake around the building across the avenue, followed by a speedy detour through the courtyard beside it, might have fooled her had she'd been so inattentive as presented. Her instincts sent warning prickles down her spine, waking up every nerve in preparation for the coming danger. A few moments of meditative focus shaped the surface of her mind smooth, calm and mirror bright surface belying the extreme depths of will and strength beneath.

She was ready.

Gritty boot soles scraped against the damp flagstones of the path to her back, confirming her psychic tracking of his position. For an instant Shay considered turning around now, having 'Brin' confront the creep in her habitual up-front-and-no-apologies manner since he'd made the mistake of getting within swinging range, rather than allow the otherwise inevitable fight to occur. The flicker of thought dissipated quick as it had come. The light within her knew she needed to play this event out as it came. The Force had something to show her... something she needed to see.

Foreknowledge allowed Shay to react far faster than her assailant could anticipate, even without the use of powers to augment her abilities. The 'independent contractor' whirled to the right, damp blonde hair fanning out about her face. She stepped about in order to face the stranger side-on. In the space of a blink the Sentinel took in the sight before her, time slowing down in the Jedi's perception as she studied her enemy's appearance and posture.

No conscious thought launched her next move, only instinct and trust. Her right arm swept upwards, bent at both elbow and wrist in a classic Broken Gate block brace. The outer edge of her forearm impacted with the underside of his near the wrist. The close body block took advantage of the existing angular momentum in the man's swing, redirecting the trajectory upwards as well as to his left. This position left his right flank wide open for retaliation, and 'Brin' did not shrink from the opportunity.

A liquid shift of posture brought more of her weight to rest on her left foot than the right. The unburdened leg's knee lifted, calf brought perpendicular to thigh then parallel to the ground, followed by the whole limb slamming forward piston-like into her attacker's unguarded side. Shay poured as much strength into the blow as she possessed without resorting to physical enhancements, seeking to knock him back and even down, to give her some breathing room while she prepared for more of the same.

As soon as the kick landed full force she sidestepped back, extending the distance between the two humans. With a twist and flick she withdrew one of her vibroknives from its wrist holster underneath the jacket sleeve. The Sentinel had duly noted her opponent carried a pair of those broad blades; however, the twin of her own knife resided in her boot, making it unfeasible to bring them both to the party at this point.

Not under the immediate threat of bodily assault at present—give it a few seconds and the story would no doubt change—Master Marin gave the stranger with the murderous mindset a closer examination. Sunset red reflected on flat black lenses, causing her to suspect for a moment they might be cybernetic optics. That theory dissolved away before becoming fully formed once she noted the straps holding the goggles to the man's grimy face.

'Brin' extended her now-armed appendage towards her assailant in unspoken warning. However, she made no move to pay back one assault for another. She could have pulled out her blaster instead, blown him away and ended it all. That wouldn't sit well with her conscience though. She'd rather convince him to stand down.

Instead, the knife waggled its tip at him in censure. “Very rude,” she said, a patient mother's gentle scold towards a wayward child. “A knife in the back is a terrible way to say hello.” Dramatic talents painted a smirk on her fair-skinned face, but the alluded humor never touched those intense amber eyes.

When the rain was falling and spattering on the sweet domed buildings of Theed, Garlan was busy trying to fathom what had just occurred. Descended water around him was plucking the earth like a mad electroharp player tearing into some out of time solo. The cacophony noise radiated an air of desperation into the combat, soaking the fighters. Small pools began to form between the cobblestone blocks of the path underfoot, also making the combatants slick with water. The smooth surfaces above had water running down them, making their surfaces bead with millions og tiny jewels that caught the distant setting sun. A million points of fire that became both terrifying and beautiful.

In the brief exchange Garlan had his attack blocked, redirected and then received a prompt kick to the side. Fortunately the armour took the brunt of the attack and allowed him to keep his balance. It wasn’t the strike that had brought a surprised expression to his face but the speed with which it had been applied. The kick had been delivered quickly and which a professional air of calm. Facing down a trained fighter didn’t worry the mercenary. Fear was abstract to him. A painting in which he could not lose himself in, but instead deject, ignore and refuse to give the artist validation. He replaced his bewilderment with adrenaline and felt his physical implants take hold.

Like a drop of liquid mercury the implants made their presence known. Their effect flooded through Garlan’s body, a dam of untapped energy swamping the oaken bark of his muscles beneath his skin. Strength multiplied to the long vines that served as his arms, and to the tendrils of his fingers. Tightening his grip on his vibroweapon, he withdrew his second claw and grasped it tightly like creeping ivy around a statuette. That done he rooted himself, right foot forward and left foot behind slightly wider than shoulders length apart. A typical horse stance that was hard to break. This whole recovery took only a second in which time Brin drew a short blade.

Garlan’s claws cut slow hypnotic circles in the air, both tips pointed towards Brin. Cruel and menacing were the blades in the failing light. Their metal surface captured and held the red light like gore. Shadows stretched long and their lines becoming more and more blurred as night fell. Garlan’s great coat touched the ground as he crouched like a tiger ready to launch himself at the gazelle ahead.

“Very rude,” Brim began. “A knife in the back is a terrible way to say hello.”

The woman’s quip fell on deaf ears. Garlan had been long accustomed to his prey begging for mercy and finding none. The stand-off was beginning to grow wearisome on Garlan. An irritating little donut that he hated to eat because it was as fattening as it was pointless. Moving forward he lashed out like an angry dog. His lips turned up into a feral snarl and his brow draw down in concentration. With the implants working his drug addled muscles the strike was that of a cobra’s. Fast and precise and tinted with a poisonous malice for the woman who stopped his quick kill.

His appendage lashed forward in a cross cut to the right, towards Brin’s extended knife wielding hand. The second claw came around, flashing the blood colored light from yellow, orange and a brief reflective of Garlan’s canine visage. Its trajectory followed that of the first blade swipe but lower, towards the knee, Garlan crouching slightly lower to compensate. His left foot followed and formed the same horse stance as before, reversed. The weapons sang through the air like angry wasps, hungry for blood.

There would be no standing down from her assailant. Her strike had phased him for but a breath, no more. He’d been surprised by the suddenness of her response, yes, but his determination to splatter her blood crimson on the damp ground had not lessened in the face of her skill. So be it. She regretted the necessity of hurting him in order to defend herself, but he left her no alternative. Jedi desired peace, but that didn’t make her a pacifist. Besides, she had too many people to live for.

As the two combatants squared off, the sky tore open and released its humid burden. Runnels of rainwater snaked down vertical surfaces and pooled in horizontal depressions. Droplets cascaded down the sides of the Jedi Master’s long leather jacket and soaked into her hair. She felt every smallest sensation born of moisture against her skin but paid them no mind. Shay held her ground, body remaining still as her mind, while she watched her opponent and awaited his next strike.

Something odd happened to the man’s aura then, a flickering in his life pattern from a cause she couldn’t identity. The Sentinel was no healer and incapable of diagnosing a specific physiological change at a glance, but she knew a change had occurred. Were she to ‘look’ deeper she might be able to figure it out, but that would take time and concentration to spare, neither of which she possessed at present.

The hyperclarity of meditative focus allowed the Jedi Master to see every bead of liquid cast from her opponent’s blades as he swirled them about in what he perhaps intended to be a menacing manner. If this were the case, he’d find no satisfaction in ‘Brin’s’ response. Her amber gaze remained loosely focused on the center of her enemy’s chest, awaiting a tell of his intentions before he struck. Distraction was as alien a concept to her at the moment as fear was to the man she faced. She had a goal and the Force; she needed nothing else.

Master Marin knew the blow was coming a split second before the begoggled man began to move his arm. A quick flip of the handle through her fingers reversed Shay’s grip on her knife, bringing the weapon to a position better suited for blocking. As he lunged forward, she bent her knees and settled into a low defensive stance. The philosophy of the Soresu form stayed with her even when the hilt in her hand wasn’t attached to a lightsaber blade.

The two blades met with a sharp skreeeee! like the call of a dying robot bird as their individual resonances clashed. The impact imparted a great deal more kinetic energy than she was expecting. Her arm began to fold back towards her side before she could compensate. The resulting delay didn’t give her sufficient time to block the second strike, necessitating a hasty hop backwards to escape injury.

A golden gaze akin to a hawk’s stared into and through the criminal. Between one swing and the next her opponent had gained a considerable amount of strength. Either he had been deliberately holding back, or that flicker she’d seen in the Living Force before had been involved. Implants then, or some innate genetic capability. The guy looked human enough, but in this galaxy that didn’t mean much.

All these thoughts came and went in a blink. She bowed to the inevitable, pulling on the Force to fortify her physical frame enough to regain the advantage. There were causes worth dying for and places perfect for making final stands, but a random brawl in the rain didn’t qualify as either. No, the Investigator would not allow herself to fall this day—especially without knowing why she’d been targeted for death by a complete stranger in the first place. The curiosity alone would be enough to kill her a second time over then.

Now ‘Brin’ took a turn on the offensive. First a swift dart to the side—his left, her right—to prevent him effectively bringing both weapons to bear on her due to his own back being in the way. Force Speed wasn’t on the menu, but she did move noticeably faster than before thanks to enhanced agility. Then came the close, her left forearm preemptively barring his own from swinging any closer as her right arced up and around. She slammed her balled fist into the side of her opponent’s stubbled jaw like a prize fighter looking for a match-winning KO.

Which she was, she supposed, at least the last part. The Sentinel didn’t like having to make use of her powers for any longer than necessary while undercover. Also, the quicker she could disable her opponent, the less chance she’d have to inflict serious injury upon him. Since she'd rather reserve her vibroknife as a last resort, the only condition likely to end the fight was unconsciousness. Not to mention his head wasn't armored, unlike most of the rest of him.

Rain fell with an apparent apathetic application. Splattering on the ground without a care where it fell. It flooded the cobblestones creating a great net of crisscrossing rivers. The ultimate irrigation system miniaturised for all to see. All that was missing was a genius engineer standing nearby to point out the natural occurring work of brilliance.

The fall intensified to the point where the river grew into a torrent. Crashing against the man made walls in a desperate fashion. Like an animal attempting to escape its prison. Lightning flashed far off, and illuminated the raindrops for half a second. In Garlan’s hyperaware state he was able to pick out the drops. Like a field of ten million glittering spears and helmets. A army of soldiers storming downward. A group sent down to relieve the earth of a long thirst.

Garlan enjoyed the rain, the randomness of its fall, the static charge of ozone as lightning struck and the aftershocks of sound reverberating off the walls. It was a sense of chaotic peace that he felt in himself. A visual comparison that he could cling to and look at for its beauty and threat.

For half a second his mind left him and he was in the clouds, flying about in the flashes of light and deep brooding colors. Stripped of his mortal form he looked upon people as ants, but not as a superior. Instead he was a guardian. Becoming a warden against the pains and hardships of everyday life its crushing monotony. He almost felt like he could laugh before he felt something strike him hard against the cheek. To try and avoid the blow he had moved back reflexively, but the blow sent him a pace back, from which he recovered, albeit with a slightly shaken mind.

Lightning crashed again and the soldiers returned, flashing their spears and waving their swords. Garlan felt inspired by the spectacle. His mortal ways weren’t much in comparison to the ferocity of the storm, but he could feel it. Almost touch the raw energy pumping through his veins, mind and out through his extremities.

Garlan maintained his former position. Left foot forward, right behind with only his left side presented to the enemy. He repeated the same motion with a swift left cross cut, but quickly changed the second motion by bringing the blade in his right hand up, aiming for a strike on Brin’s weapon bearing arm. The attack came like a blur to the observer, but to the fighters is had a feeling of extended time. Like the movements were stretched longer, but at the same time shorter. It was a feeling Garlan had tried to pin point numerous times. He concluded that it was a ‘combat time’ where emotions were placed aside and actions were just reflex and brutal strikes. Like being high, you crashed afterwards being exhausted and spent from the fight. Garlan still didn’t have the words to truly grab hold of the concept rationally.

As his blades cut droplets of water on their course to meet Brin’s body Garlan caught a glimpse of the woman’s eyes. They were a brown that reminded him a lot of an ice cream he used to eat as a kid. A frozen treat he enjoyed in between drug binges and drinking. It had a chocolate nougat taste that was easily savoured and never failed to please. An easy, earthy taste that he related to a memory that delved even further into his past. But what exact scene in his life he couldn’t really bring to mind. A frustrating failure of thought that made him angry. It wasn’t this woman’s fault. It was just her eyes. Those amber brown orbs of deep thought and consideration, that made Garlan’s mind rage and foam like a tormented, contained river.

Precognition had its limits. Even Jedi more gifted in foresight than Shay could not see or predict all events, or even most events. The future was always in motion, a writhing sea of potential outcomes and timelines. Every choice had a consequence, every cause an effect, all of which shaped this potential into reality like clay beneath a million tiny fingers. Actions were not fated to happen until they occurred. By the time you were certain about the present moment, it had already passed you by.

That said, certain events—and people—were easier to predict than others. The more you thought about an action, the sooner the Force could give warning. Premeditated actions all but cried out to announce their presence. By the same token, spur of the moment choices and responses of instinct could take even a Jedi by surprise. The ripples in the sea needed time to spread for you to know something had disturbed its flow.

Fighting her current assailant proved the truth of this fact. He had made no plans beyond ‘Stab person in front of me until she falls down’. The actual attacks he made required no thought, his body acting almost on automatic. As for his mind, the Jedi Master’s empathy determined his train of thought repeatedly tore itself off one set of rails and slammed onto the next with no apparent rhyme or reason. Emotions tore across his psychic landscape in rapid succession, none of which enlightened her as to why the man wanted to kill her so much.

He took her punch well, though he rolled with it a little too late to prevent from becoming dazed. It must have caused him pain, but he gave no sign of same. She pressed forward to close the distance between them to press the momentary advantage. At the same time she raised her vibroknife-wielding arm in a defensive pose in anticipation of his return attack.

After a moment’s resteadying he came at her again, the left blade lashing out in another cross-cut. Shay parried without conscious intent, fighting on the defense as basic as breathing to her. Steel screamed against steel again as their weapons attempted in vain to cut through one another. A flash of warning carried with it the next bolt of lightning, alerting her to the aim of his right arm before its metal talon could strike home. The Jedi Master pulled the limb back out of danger, though the tip did catch against the loose edge of her overlarge coat, leaving a gash in the leather.

Shay stepped back with her right leg, adjusting her position to a forward stance with her left leg leading. She faked an angry glare in response to the damage to her clothing. “Bastard,” she spat out through gritted teeth. Shay could care less, but ‘Brin’ really liked this outfit. “I’ve officially run out of patience with you!”

Making good on her implied threat, the ‘independent contractor’ took the initiative again. Stepping forward, she carved a diagonal swath through the air from lower left to upper right, with the seeming target being her assailant’s begoggled face. As soon as he moved his attention towards defending the upper half of his body, she switched tactics, snapping out a brutal kick to his left knee with all her enhanced strength behind it. It didn’t take a lot of force to break a kneecap—pun not intended but certainly applicable—and while that could be considered a crippling injury it was far kinder than stabbing him.

Garlan landed a blow, but not a successful one. It merely skimmed the outfit on the enemies form. It was a moral victory as she seemed irritated by the damage. Clothing was trivial to Garlan, he made use of what was available and practical. It seemed a loss to but on such fancy dress when it was going to bloodstained and sullied by the end of the day.

“Bastard,” the woman spat. Garlan’s face turned up in a impish smile, and his tongue poked between his grotesque teeth. “I’ve officially run out of patience with you!”

Garlan felt like putting out a witty retort, but what happened next put him immediately into a foul mood.

The knife was an easy dodge, but Garlan had underestimated his opponent. Her muscled leg struck with the sound of a cracking branch against his leg. Without realising it Garlan gave out a yelp of pain, a wounded animal who’s paw had been stepped upon. Pain howled up through his leg and wracked his foot bellow as well. Fire seemed to spark its way up and through his side and he began to plan a hasty fall back.

Garlan limped back pulling his weapons up to ward off a continued assault. Heavily placed boot steps kicked up amounts of water which was swiftly replaced by the torrential downpour in short order. His face snarling, lips drawing back over yellowed teeth into a canine sneer. Garlan looked like a harlequin ready to go into a fit. Anger suddenly blossomed in him, deep red fringed with orange along the edges. A raging, crimson ember glowed and flashed into a raging fire. He could feel heat rise into his face and ears, blushing in his fury. He had been struck before, even bested in combat, but never by a woman.

Straightening up a bit he spun his machetes in his hands and moved forward swiftly, a predatory bird ruffling his feathers before diving into to kill prey. The hissing vibro-weapons cut swathes through the air in their merciless advance towards Brin. Flailing, ready to cut and maim with abandon.

Galran desired to end this woman’s life more than anyone else’s. To hack her down like a tree, and see her sap seep between the cobblestones. But in that thought she grew many feet taller in his mind. Lightening struck and she was rising over him, old and wizened far beyond him. Her leaves blocked out the sun, and humbled him, and for a split second his anger subsided. She appeared a tall tree of ash pale white and silent. Garlan staggered for a second, his axe faltered and he felt he couldn’t strike out. Unable to hack into her and use the profit to warm his bones with narcotics. He was a sapling, a poplar that was bending in the wind. Garlan could feel his will sap when looking into those amber eyes.
His exterior remained impassable. A wall of grained and pitted oak was his visor, incapable of fear or compassion.

Without thinking he lashed out, both blades slashing down to match Brin’s previous cross cut. High right to low left, from Garlan’s perspective. Again his claws flashed in the light. Angry and pale against the cold stone below his blades were. Light caught his goggles, making them glare and blaze with light, like two smouldering coals.

Surprise rippled across the placid surface of the Jedi Master’s mind. Her assailant still walked. Perhaps she had not cracked his kneecap as intended, but from the sound and feel of the impact Shay knew something had been fractured. She also knew—from unfortunate personal experience—that supporting your weight on a broken limb caused a great deal of pain. Yet this stranger managed to maintain his footing and limp away. Shay didn’t know whether to be impressed by him or concerned for him.

The Sentinel allowed her opponent to withdraw, desiring a little space as well. The fingers of her free hand tugged open the front of her jacket, the rasp of the zipper lost in the hissing downpour. She had other weapons to bring to bear, less lethal means to end the fight. Causing death was to be avoided whenever possible; entropy snuffled out enough lives without her helping it along. ‘Brin’ assumed another defensive crouch, amber eyes wary beneath blonde bangs plastered wet against her forehead.

This scenario didn’t add up; to be more specific, he didn’t add up. The man glaring at her from behind black lenses wasn’t so much unpredictable as downright erratic. His aura guttered like a candle flame in a cold draft, providing an uncertain light to read his intentions by. Small details niggled at her, insisting on their importance. A pattern had to exist here, a method to the apparent madness—or at least a specific type of madness. However, she didn’t have enough data yet to form a firm hypothesis.

Wrath possessed her opponent, reversing momentum from retreat towards advance. There was an odd shading to his anger, as though her mere existence offended him on a personal level. Yet another why without a proper answer, another point of curiosity the Investigator had to repress in order to focus on maintaining her skin’s integrity. She awaited his next attempt to inflict harm without fear or flinch, preferring to let him come to her than move to meet him.

A heartbeat passed. Another thread of potential between the two combatants grew taut with anticipation. The stranger stopped in the middle of his lunge, holding still and simply staring at her. Whatever he saw made the rage evaporate for an instant of real time. The emotion which rushed in to fit that tiny and momentary void approached awe. A few firing of synapses later short-circuited her attacker’s mind back towards anger.

More threads of Force pulled and shifted, forming a complex knot in the fabric of time. These events held a significance beyond the immediate. An opportunity threshold approached. Shay knew this, but no more. Therefore, there was nothing else to be done than to act as her nature demanded.

Her contemplation of fate and consequence did not interfere with her body’s defense. Trying to block both blades coming from the same direction would be futile when she only held one. Instead now ‘Brin’ was the one to retreat, springing backwards in faith the Force would not lead her into an obstacle. Booted feet squelched into sodden turf as she left the paved garden path, balance unhindered by the treacherous surface.

Shay kept her vibroknife up at a warding angle while her free hand reached into her jacket in search of a tranquilizer dart. “Whatever you’re mad about, it’s not worth dying for, kid,” she declared, maintaining the earlier hard and angry edge to her voice. “Don’t be stupid.”

With a singing hiss Garlan's blades cut through open air as the enemy leapt back again. He was begining to feel himself burn apart. At first darkening at the edges, then blackening until he was wreathed with fire. He tried to dig his roots deeper, but found himself uplifted by the torrent raging around him. With consuming fire and shadow anger began to over take his body. A greedy flame that began to painfully strip his bark and leaves away. Armour shouldered did not stop the oncoming tide of licking flames stemmed from unprovoked madness and frustration.

Then came a knock upon his door. A mental hammer of addiction that echoed with a resounding boom. A thunderous rumble that continued to hum and resonate deeply in the tar stained pits of his soul. He knew the hum well, having stood on the factory his landlord occupied. The dull, dry grinding of the maliciously monsterous mysterious machines. Making their manipulative mindful metaphors that mauled Garlan's thoughts with the thrust of a thousand blade tips.

Desperate to escape he raced through corridors, pathways and castles in hopes of solstice. Then he found a seemless ball of reason. A cream colored sphere that rippled with the sounds of his foot steps. But just as he was about to graze her surface, his owner lashed him around the neck dragged him kicking and screaming back to war.

Brin spoke, “whatever you’re mad about, it’s not worth dying for, kid,' she began rummaging into her coat.

Garlan continued his advance, unknowningly to himself he was walking strangely. As his right leg refused to obey. Freqeuntly it buckled without his notice, only to fall on reliance from the left leg. He was like an injured animal who didn't know what was better for him. Pressing the hunt when he should have retired to his cave. But behind him his landlord poked and prodded him. Striking him with shock baton, sword and lash. Garlan knew if he turned back, he would have to answer to his failed self and absorb the after shocks of his owner's booming call.

“Don’t be stupid.”

Garlan's face was frozen in a terrible feral smile. But his teeth were now hollow, his claws dull. Patches of his fur were begining to fall away in great clumps to reveal the charred bark of what lay beneath. However the tree-skin shifted and relfected the flashes of light produced above. It didn't know what it wanted to be, man, plant, or beast. Garlan fought with himself to kill or fall to his knees in awe. An animal in a trap he debated gnawing off his own leg, or succumbing to death.

Taking the oppurtunity of Brin reaching into her coat, Garlan leapt forward, landing on his better leg and slashing horizontally outward with both weapons, attempting to strike the woman's midsection.

Any lingering possibility her opponent might be in his right mind vanished when he continued to press the attack. The disheveled man staggered forward despite his injury, almost as though he were ignorant of its presence. If the present circumstances not so dangerous she would be most worried about the further damage caused by his actions. As it stood, Shay had to maintain enough emotional detachment from the scene to continue holding on to clarity.

Few motives could drive any sentient being towards such self-destructive ends, all of them irrational. Out of the handful of possibilities, the Jedi Master had begun to lean towards a base insanity. The cause of her attacker’s madness—inherent neurochemistry, mind-altering substances, or extreme desperation—remained in doubt.

Shay did not need to causes to posit as to the effects, however. He would not give up his folly by choice, no matter the personal cost. She had to defeat him through either the use of overwhelming bodily force—no pun intended—or invasive psychic manipulation. Given his erratic mental state, the second option was not on the table, as the Sentinel refused to risk making his condition worse.

All these ponderings passed through her accelerated mind within the span of a second. In the material world, her fingers brushed over the shaft of a tranquilizer dart just as her assaulter charged back into weapons range. For such a direly injured man, he moved with impressive speed—Shay suspected implants, some form of enhancement chemicals, or both. Regardless of the ‘how’, the ‘what’ commanded top priority. Time for a small bit of ‘cheating’…

Both his blades aimed for her abdomen, so Shay chose to remove it from the equation. She deliberately fell backward, almost as though he had succeeded in injuring her at last. As gravity summoned her mass downwards, the Jedi Master stretched her arms first over then behind her head, wrists bending back in order for her to plant both hands on the sodden ground. The vibromachetes missed her stomach by mere centimeters.

She remained balanced in the extended wheel pose for no more than an instant before continuing the momentum. Her left foot snapped off the ground, the mud-caked boot delivering a kick with precise targeting to her assailant’s right wrist. This was another ‘soft’ target, one his armor could not adequately protect. The impact against bone and nerves jarred the first flashing blade out of his grip, tumbling through the air to ultimately land in a nearby deep puddle.

Pushing off with her right leg, she shifted her full weight onto her hands. Within another blink of time she’d flipped her lower body up and over the upper. One last flex of her arms had her completing the flip, soaking hair scattering droplets in a high arc as she returned to a standing position. Her own weapon lay humming away abandoned in a patch of grass. Some might think this a tactical error on her part, but Shay didn’t need it for what she intended to do next.

One dirtied hand reached inside her coat again, yanking the tranquilizer dart free of its holder. Then ‘Brin’ dashed back into the fray with a perhaps surprising brazenness. She feinted a straight charge forward, then spun aside at the last minute. She swung her clenched fist towards the side of her opponent’s neck, burying the needle point in his flesh. Her motions looked hasty, but Shay made sure the point of contact would not pose the threat of serious damage. She wanted to knock him out, not perforate his carotid artery.

Garlan’s eyes became receptacles for honey glaze. Their cataracts pained his vision like needles of cool steam. Pixie had given up on the doorway and was now staring in the windows. Dark and brooding his eyes were set on Garlan, sitting at his table trying to read the paper. Pinpricks of cold fire that seemed to bleed through the haze of frost marking the window. Slowly but surely the face began to push it’s way in, the window bending around it. Garlan turned his head and stared it down and slowly said to it, you’re crashing. Slowly, Pixie retreated and the scuffs on his floorboards vanished. Garlan was alone again and in cold comfort.

The sapling felt his right branch snap and go dead. His claw had broken and went skittering across the ground. Angrily the weapon chittered at Garlan for being disregarded so easily. Slowly it died, disconnected from its life source and fading from existence. Loudly the machete fell silent, glinting on the cold cobblestone over saturated in the lamp light that clicked on.

Whatever narcotics that had been pumping through his body were now subsiding. The combination of adrenaline and implants had pumped the poison through his system so quickly they now flushed from his muscles. To avoid damage his enhancements shut down. His legs began to shake and his other weapon fell from a loose grip before clattering to the ground. When Brin thrust the tranquilliser dart into his neck be didn’t feel it. There came the sensation of sleep that stabbed through his brain like a spike of quick silver. Slowly sensations dulled and he felt his knees buckle.

Crashing to the ground Garlan stared out, over the wall, across the water at the streets at the city. The warm lamps and cool dark windows and doorways where lovers met soothed him more than the cold stone pressed against his cheek. The hunters ax had struck true and he timbered. Water continued to fall upon his slowly smoldering bark and he welcomed it. It’s soothing fluidity sunk into his skin, pooling in portions of his armour.

A slow, long sigh escaped him. His claws returned to meaty hands, his face retracted and became human again. Cold grey eyes stared out absent of any popular thoughts. Once they blinked as the sharpened teeth became molars and incisors respectively. Again his nose twitched slightly, scenting the wood of ash nearby and his eyes bending to look up at the pale tree standing over him. Bright lights caught her hair, for a moment making it frighteningly blonde. Her eyes burning darkly, like two pin pricks of stars. Garlan’s head reflexively moved away. Turned to face the other direction and his eyes fell to the veranda he stood under previously, and the smooth building.

He envied it.

It’s perfectly smooth surface, the flawless simplicity in which is existed. The perfect little corner of the universe to die in.

Her assailant joined the rain in its fall to the ground. Shay reached out an arm to try to catch him, but she failed to attain a hold before gravity pulled him away. Impact spray momentarily haloed his form from the large puddle he landed in, each individual drop’s arcing trajectory visible in the Jedi Master’s hyperawareness.

In a flash the Investigator moved to crouch besides him, performing a quick visual and psychic examination to ensure the scruffy man was down for the count. Jagged lines of erratic thought smoothed out to the low amplitude ripples of unconsciousness. A quick tug removed the spent dart from the side of his neck. A small drop of crimson welled up, soon water thinned into a thin pink ribbon dribbling down pale flesh.

After making sure the seepage of blood from the small puncture didn’t indicate any important vessels had been nicked, she moved on to check over the rest of him. Shay kept her touch light and no more intrusive than necessary as she frisked her downed opponent. He might be sleeping soundly now, but caution dictated she disarm him before he had chance to awake. Another item Master Marin sought was some form of identification. All the better to determine why he wanted to filet my spleen.

Erratic actinic lightning flashes combined with nearby lumens provided enough illumination to read the ident card she retrieved from an inner jacket pocket. The name inscribed there wasn’t one she recognized, from either her personal or ‘professional’ spheres. The next plastic placard she located explained why: a Bounty Hunter’s Guild permit. A hired killer then, and a fairly good—if unstable—one. Given the man hadn’t been loaded for Jedi, it appeared Brin Trell had managed to aggravate someone enough to make her worth the credits spent on a professional hit.

A gentle prod from the Force in the back of her mind bade her to continue the search. A few more items found their way inside her leather trenchcoat, including a blaster pistol. Odd he’d not use this to strike at a distance, instead taking the risk of closing with his target. Then again, perhaps this maddened bounty hunter preferred the brutality of the up close kill. She’d meant several of such ilk in her time as an undercover Jedi.

Such musings met a swift end when her gloved fingers closed around a small plastic pouch in the last pocket. A faint trill of trepidation sounded in her mind as she withdrew the item and held it up for examination. The outer material proved translucent, allowing Shay to glimpse the subtle iridescent shimmer of the powder within.

“Damn.” She’d recognize Neutron Pixie anywhere. Fighting off a short term addiction to the stuff did that to a person. This last piece completed the puzzle, revealing an unexpected depth in the finished design. Now her assaulter’s behavior made perfect sense. Users of the spice variant felt no pain and recognized no fear.

Were she truly Brin Trell, she’d leave the man where he lay, drenched by the downpour. She’d dispose of the Pixie in short order; keeping her nose clean kept the authorities from questioning the cargo she carried too much. Once back to her ship, she’d start digging through her own Guild connections to discover who hired this ‘Garlan Bawoosh’ to kill her, then make preparations for a ‘friendly’ visit.

Brin Trell was only a fiction, however, a convenient façade she wore. Shay Marin cared more about her fellow sentients than the ‘independent contractor’—yes, including those who tried to commit violence on her person. In addition, she sensed the meddling of the Force in these events. A purpose lay beneath the pretense of coincidence. Never had she failed to heed the call of the galaxy, and she wasn’t about to start now.

Taking care to avoid further injury to Bawoosh’s damaged leg, Shay proceeded to sling the man across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry. As she completed the arrangement, her mind worked at plotting a new course for the evening. A few judicious applications of the stereotypical Jedi mind trick would convince the spaceport security personnel to buy a story of two spacer drinking buddies shuffling home after a bar fight. Securing him in the Equinox’s med bay would be simple enough, using bed restraints and a pair of stun cuffs in case of implant fueled resistance. With any luck, his insensate state would last long enough for her to begin to treat his injuries.

And then… well, the Sentinel could see only one moral option to pursue. The addict may not want her help, but he wouldn’t get a choice in the matter. Maybe he’d thank her after, maybe he’d resent her, but at least he’d have the clarity of mind to decide.

Darkness engulfed Garlan with a coldly loving hand over his eyes. Drifting for a time he acquainted himself with the colourless creatures clouding his thoughts. Old faces warped by memory altering drugs became bestial. They whispered in terrific tongues that the berserker recognised from the combat ring. The grunting and roaring of monsters from all corners of the galaxy flooded his ears with a tepid tenacity. Many Garlan recognised.

Oc’acar the Tusken from Tattooine. Lupic the Shistavanen. Tim the Rancor. However they weren’t their ferocious selves they had been in the battle ring. Instead their voices muttered sadly and dispiritedly. Lacking the blood thirsty will of gladiators and replaced with levels of contemplation. The sort of reflection that only came from years of meditation and close understanding of the universe.

Garlan attempted to shut them out, putting his hands over his ears. But their conjoined voices penetrated his flimsy skull and echoed loudly. Chanting over and over a meaningless, songless story about Garlan’s life. His rise from the gangs of Coruscant, future conquests in the arena and his kills as a bounty hunter. But the tale wasn’t one glory and honour. Instead the notes only fell deeper and deeper until they transposed a requiem. A terrible nonsensical arrangement that made Garlan’s head feel like it was peeling apart.

With a jarring motion the horrible noises ended and he was awake again but terrifically hazy. His arms were dangling above the ground and an uncomfortable amount of blood had flooded his skull. A dull thudding, heavy foot falls were all he could hear. Brin was carrying him. He could see the color of her hair darkened from the rainfall. Garlan wanted to get a hold of his blaster, but could feel the empty holster pressed against his stomach, and his machetes scabbards were empty. Realising that he had been soundly defeated Garlan fell back into unconsciousness. This time it was a dreamless sleep uninterrupted by Rancors or Sand People.

The second time the drug-addict came to he was strapped to a table. Whatever could be potentially used as a weapon was thrown onto a nearby table, his jacket accompanying the items. Displayed was his various modes of assassination. His machetes, and pistols standing out predominately. His blaster rifle was back on his own ship, but he had doubts of seeing anytime soon.

Trying to lift his hand Garlan swiftly discovered the locks ample enough to hold him. They creaked loudly, leather squeaking loudly in report of his efforts. But due to his previous intake of performance enhancements it was tough to get the leverage and physical focus. He was depleted of any resistance for flesh. Instead he laid his head back on medical table and stared into the florescent lighting with apprehension. There was no telling what was going to happen to him. He was still dazed from the tranquilliser, but he knew how to cope with the after effects of such toxins. Like clockwork he blinked hard, counting down from ten and began rapidly wiggling his toes and fingers. Slowly he tightened his fingers into fists and breathed deeply. Limited by his bonds Garlan attempted to get his blood flowing and mind active with what he had.

After five minutes the sleepiness affecting his limbs has dissipated enough for him realise his knee had taken a heavy hit. Trying to bend it in the confines of the straps was difficult. Perhaps he could get his hand free? Wriggling his wrist Garlan tugged violently, causing the leather to groan again in protest. The medical table jumped slightly at his tugging but still to no avail. Garlan tried for several minutes before he found himself doused in sweat and his hair hanging in his face. He had managed to knock over a table next to him, scattering various precision instruments. Fearing he may have made too much noise he stared wide eye and still at the entrance to the medical bay.

No one could blame the Jedi Master for being unprepared to hold a sentient being semi-hostage. She hadn’t used her bounty hunter alias in an age, and ‘Brin Trell’ hadn’t had the time or need to take those sorts of jobs either. Therefore she’d had to leave her assaulter behind in the medbay while she gathered the necessary paraphernalia. She’d tested the restraints enough previous to be sure they’d hold the man, at least for a good while.

She started out her scavenging run by locating her stun cuffs, buried in the back of a storage unit. A lockbox had to be procured next, just in case something went wrong. Shay wouldn’t give her ‘prisoner’ the chance to lay hands on a weapon any time soon. In preparation for the eventuality that Bawoosh managed to awake sooner than expected, she left a discontent but obedient Kai behind outside the entrance to the medbay.

On impulse, she’d re-checked the manifest for her medical cargo, curious to see if the crates included anything she might require to treat any complications of detox properly. ‘Brin’ didn’t want to develop a reputation for skimming the stock, so the Sentinel hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Saving a life held a higher priority to Shay than material items, however.

On the way back up towards the prow of the ship, her ears caught the distant clatter of metal and plastics taking a tumble together on the deck plating. Her following sigh reflected mild resignation and amusement both. He must’ve put up an awful lot of squirming to manage that.

Kai’s dislike for the unfamiliar smelling stranger kicked up a notch, expressing itself in a low growl and a trot of claws as she approached the biobed. Master Marin hastened her stride in response, not wanting an unfortunate situation to develop. She and Mac had trained the vornskr too well for the canine to lose control completely, but she might consider a threatening snap or too an appropriate response.

Right before reaching the threshold to the medbay, the Investigator donned her ‘independent contractor’ persona like a familiar set of clothing. Once she stepped inside, she was all Brin from a cocked hip posture to faintly mocking arched blonde brows. “Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” she quipped, dropping the lockbox off on a nearby shelf before moving to sort out the helter skelter scattering of medical instruments. “Didn’t expect you awake quite yet. Liking your accommodations?”

Beyond the door he heard a gravelly growl. A light padding of feet could be heard accompanying the ominous sound. The scent of animal hair drifted in on an artificial breeze. The final piece of the puzzle fell into place when a vornskr pulled into view. It’s yellow-red eyes stared at Garlan with a sense of discontent from between his two booted feet, at the edge of the table. The upper lip of the creature curled up in another growl. Odd that a vornskr would be trained as a guard dog rather than left to its own designs elsewhere.

Garlan slowly lowered his head, careful not to move too quickly -not that his current predicament allowed him to- hoping not to anger the animal further. In hopes of calming himself down more he glanced around the room again, taking in details. Garlan craned his neck just enough to peer over the side edge of the table he lay on. Medical instruments, stainless steel, extremely fine, and clearly expensive. The addict blinked his eyes hard, thinking, trying to grasp at straws as to where he truly was. His natural underworld paranoia was seeping into him, telling him something was not right. There were few in the criminal ring, bounty hunters and informants alike who could afford these sort of luxuries. A fully equipped medical bay seemed...strange. Garlan just chalked up the vornskr to a quirk of his captor. Before he could pursue the question further the owner of the molesting beast entered,

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead, didn’t expect you awake quite yet. Liking your accommodations?”

Silence fell on the room for a moment. The woman’s presence seemed to stem the creature’s anger, which in turn reduced some of the captive’s fear. Garlan remained silent to the question. He had been in such a situation once before, held captive by a rival mob of thugs and tortured briefly before being rescued by comrades. His capture was only for a petty ransom but it still warranted a number of scars that he still bore. However the question that lingered on the tip of his mind was: why would she go through the trouble to tie him down, instead of just killing him? Garlan shouldn’t have been tied down being asked how he liked his service. Instead he should have been lying in the gutter, a spray of gore across his face and over his chest.

When Brin moved to the side of his bed and bent to retrieve the fallen instruments he moved his face away. Her skin still seemed rough to him, white like a birch bark tree and deceivingly large, oddly. Also because his eyes darted about when he was thinking and fearing that he would display his queries, he diverted his gaze. Deriving the purpose of his capture was maddening. He was suspecting that Brin wouldn’t reveal the purpose, or intention of his imprisonment. So it seemed likely that he would be wasting his time away dealing with her dribble until they reached where they were going, for better or worse. For the time being he would make things as difficult as possible for her.

Whipping his head around to face the crouched Brin, Garlan retched and spat at her, aiming for nothing in particular, just her wooden, bent form.

The lack of response from Shay’s ‘guest’ didn’t appear to bother the woman in the slightest. Not like he has a reason to be friendly. Sure, this Bawoosh character had been the one to initiate hostilities, but getting beat up and drugged would put anyone in a foul mood, or at the least a wary one.

As she went about the task of straightening up the mess the bounty hunter had made, Shay focused part of her mind on monitoring the man’s mental state. His aura remained in a state of flux, though not in as erratic fashion as before. He still exuded a… diseased vibe, but not as strongly as during their battle. She guessed this to be a side effect of the waning toxin levels in his system.

A spike of intent paired with the horking sound from behind her gave her a few seconds’ warning of Bawoosh’s plan. She managed to spin around in time to catch the wad of spit and phlegm on her jacket sleeve, rather than it landing in a more unpleasant location. Playing it up for the metaphorical camera, she fixed a disgusted look on the biological contaminant now dripping down nerf leather. “Ewwww. Just for that, no mint on your pillow.”

Favoring her patient with a brief Mac-style sneer, she rose back to her feet, depositing a double handful of medical equipment on the now-righted cart. “You’re awful big about causing trouble, aren’t you?” After putting her instruments in some semblance of order, she picked up the security box she’d retrieved earlier and moved over to the counter holding Bawoosh’s many implements for causing death and destruction. “Time to lock up your toys, then. I’m not stupid. Sure you've already been working on trying to break loose.”

Once the man’s weapons and useful gear were safely stowed away, ‘Brin’ proceeded to shrug out of her long jacket, down to the grass green blouse beneath. “Alright, so here’s the plan, guy. I’m going to be doing my best to fix up your knee. Now normally I’d put you under because it won’t be fun times, but I’m worried about adding to the load of chemicals in your system.”

Draping her coat over a nearby chair, the Jedi Master went over to the sink and began to wash up. “So it might just have to be a local. Which means you’ll have the chance to squirm. I wouldn’t recommend it, unless you wanna have a limp after I cut you loose. It’s all your call though.”

The girl was quick, blocking the disgusting, messy glob of collected saliva, mucus and blood with the arm of her jacket. With discomforting slowness it ran a course down the coats leathery skin. It found it’s way to the floor with a juicy glorp. Her response came cooly, causing the captives skin to crawl with irritation for lack of drawing anger. “Ewwww. Just for that, no mint on your pillow.” Every ounce of frustrated muscle in Garlan’s body want to get off the table and strangle the woman next to him. This manner of torture was alien to the young man. Why hadn’t she killed him yet?

“You’re awful big about causing trouble, aren’t you,” she went one, retrieving the fallen medical instruments. Daintily she placed them on the previously over turned table. Garlan quietly observed, tired of fighting an obviously fruitless fight. The leather had dug into his wrists and irritated his skin, anymore struggling and it may have drawn blood. He opted to lay against the cold metal gurney. “Time to lock up your toys, then. I’m not stupid. Sure you've already been working on trying to break loose.” Garlan shrugged and quietly watched Brin lock away what she referred to as his ‘toys’. He preferred ‘tools of the trade’.

A moment of silence filled the medical bay as Brin removed her jacket and flopped it over the spine of a seat. “Alright, so here’s the plan, guy. I’m going to be doing my best to fix up your knee. Now normally I’d put you under because it won’t be fun times, but I’m worried about adding to the load of chemicals in your system.” Garlan looked at her for a long time, saying nothing, but eyes narrowing in suspicion. Perhaps she was collecting on a bounty posted on Garlan’s head. He had made a number of enemies in the far off past. More than a few gangsters had lost or gained fortunes placing stakes on his head. Some of them could grow elaborate in their plots for revenge. What could anyone possibly want with him being intact?

What Brin offered was a rare thing to come by in the criminal underworld. Medical treatment was a commodity that would either make one famous or reviled by both government officials and criminals. Garlan typically helped himself with what meagre medical knowledge he had. Fixing broken bones, gunshot wounds, and lacerations wasn’t much of a problem for the average gun for hire. The damage done to Garlan’s knee was beyond him, he could tell from the grinding pain pulsing from the joint. Slowly he came to accept that he may need this woman’s help, as much as he dreaded the cold raking of her twiggy hands.

“So it might just have to be a local. Which means you’ll have the chance to squirm. I wouldn’t recommend it, unless you wanna have a limp after I cut you loose. It’s all your call though.”

Garlan mulled over the words, coming to the realization that Brin knew the gravity of his injury. Odd that an underworld nobody had such an understanding of the human anatomy and more importantly how to repair it. But Garlan pushed the thought aside. He needed to focus on where he was now and how it may benefit him in the long run. With his knee healed, and a few days of talking and wearing Brin down he may be able to break free and ultimately kill her.

Again testing the restraints of the bed he quietly accepted the treatment, muttering “you broke it, you buy it.”

Anyone with eyes could have seen the tumbling of thoughts through the addict’s mind. Shay understood his momentary struggle with the proposition she’d made. Brin Trell, while known to be a quirky and relatively mellow sort so far as mercenaries went, hadn’t made a reputation for offering generous dollops of charity to those who crossed her. The few times she’d resorted to violence beyond incapacitation had been as a result of direct threat to life and limb towards herself and those she worked with. If Bawoosh had made himself at all familiar with his target, he’d know that.

Therefore, the Jedi Master didn’t expect the bounty hunter to understand—or trust—her motives. Which is fine, she commented internally. He doesn’t have to for me to help him. The form such help would take over the next week or two would no doubt confuse him all the more. Not to mention make him hate me more than he already does. Ah well.

“You broke it, you buy it.”

The scruffy man’s grumbled assent earned him a sardonic smirk and a faint light of approval in her amber eyes. “Hey, you tried to break me first,” she quipped. “And you didn’t even buy me dinner beforehand. For shame.”

Chuckling to herself, ‘Brin’ tugged the medical card closer to the bedside. Next she turned on the medkit’s diagnostic unit, lowering and positioning it over the injured limb. It had been a while since the Sentinel had tried even this minor of surgery, so she had no hesitation in consulting an AI expert. If there were another expert about she’d call on them, but the last thing she wanted to do with this guy is let him loose anywhere near the general population yet. Not to mention we’d have to give a story as to how he got hurt to any hospital I brought him to, and he’d have no vested interest in backing any tale I told.

A set of shears was the Investigator's first selection of tool. “Hope this wasn’t a favorite pair of pants, Garlan,” she said, namedropping on purpose to alert him to her knowledge of his identity. “But I figured stripping you while you were snoozing would give you the wrong idea as to my intentions,” Shay continued as she worked on cutting away the fabric from his leg to expose the damaged knee.

Picking up a hypospray from the cart, she fitted an ampoule of Nullicaine into the dispensing cylinder. After checking the dosage twice as she’d been trained, she again consulted the diagnostic unit, tapping out a query as to the best location for the injection. A small nod indicated her comprehension of the text on the screen, before she proceeded to press the business end against his skin and trigger the release.

“Shouldn’t take long now; let me know when it stops hurting.” Setting the hypospray aside, ‘Brin’ fiddled with the other instruments she’d brought over, making sure everything she needed was present. “While we’re waiting, I’d like to know something if you’d ever-so-kindly oblige. Who hired you to take me down anyways? I’m pretty sure we’ve never tangled before, so it can’t be a personal grudge.”