“Please introduce yourself.”


“Sergeant Surrl Gur’kazu. 6th Marine Offensive Group.”

“And… What was your involvement with Captain Blanck on Coruscant during Akk Fang?”

“He was Sargeant Blanck when I was ‘involved’ with him.”

“Yes of course, then he was promoted to Captain shortly after. Before the funeral of then Captain Tabba.”

“He deserved the promotion.”

“Oh we agree, that is why we are doing this interview. We want him to be even higher.”

“We were in the same unit, same squad for the most part. The 6th.”

“When he was an Noncom and you were an enlisted man still. He recommended you for your promotion to lead his squad… The.. Um… ‘Celosians’?”

“Correct.”

“So.. What did you think of him during the previously mentioned action on Coruscant?”

“He brought us home.”

////////////////Archive…—-…Voice—Record-.Close.////////////////////////////////////


It was just some back corner of a neighborhood that had a good position for reaming Pubs while they flew away like cawing fowl. But it didn’t go how it should have, they got split apart, the Marine unit that was supposed to lock down the hill. Four squads of six men, this is where the math starts. The two squads on the east had gotten cut down to two remaining men, one missing an arm and a leg and the other trying to fix the communications. They had been communicating with hand signs and runners. The west was faring a bit better, one squad was still completely function, down two men working first aid on the remnants of their sister squad. They were getting closed in on by every side, keeping two fronts at bay while the third was nearly on top of them. Dawn was starting on the second day, it looked about as bright as the evening, all the shelling made the area look like a giant Nar Shaddaa dance Cantina.


The crisp, hot sounds of different ordnance was a constant purr in the background, loud enough it could never brought to terms and ignored, but quiet still that you could talk at normal volume without getting drowned out. It was like someone had turned on a bad war holovid and left if half muted in the next room. They had ran out of body bags when Corporal Haks took a bolt to the face and got his brain cooked, they stole a bedsheet from the house they were in for the next one and would probably have to repeat the theft with another after the last three gave up. Two humans, stripped down in the humid heat of war, wearing shirts and rifles while they worked on the moaning squadron.

A snap of a metallic lighter closing and a few harsh coughs with a hack and spit to follow. A tall, strong looking young man of twenty sat next to a red Zabrak near a window that flashed in color with the Republic defensive. The smoker’s hand went up and pulled off his helmet, nearly bald a strip ran over the top in a warrior’s mohawk, but wide enough to not offend the Imperial Officer Corps. He coughed again and scratched his long nose, leaving a streak of grime with the finger trail.

“I thought you didn’t smoke, Blanck.” The old Zabrak said in a deep mellow, unshakable. The red almost unable to be seen, mud and dirt mixing with the black tattoos. His face always unprotected, refusing to wear a helmet, he said Pubs (What they called Pubes), feared the horns on a red Zabrak.

“I always wanted to try.” The new smoker said with a small smirk, tinged with weariness and maybe some worry. The loaner of the smoke leaned forward and shrugged stiffly, he forced a smile but didn’t bother attempting to hide his fear. They were all scared.

“He made me Surly.” The other smoker lit up and walked in a crouch to whisper with a medic pumping on the chest of another soundless Marine. The Zabrak they called Surly remained unshifting with his rifle in his lap, looking at the line of lumps against the far wall near a stair well.

“If the Captain their dies we won’t have anyone giving orders.” The orange haired sergeant smirked around the cigarette that he had barely smoke, only light fearful puffs. It was a good attempt at humor for the Corporal who rarely spoke, let alone make dry comments. They had lost order on the first day. The Zabrak leaned forward and rested his hand on the shoulder of the manchild. “This is your time.” He patted him twice with dull thumps of armor, then mimicked the other Corporal’s crouch walk to check on the remnants of their weaponry.

Giles’ brown eyes slid to the last member of the Celosians, a short man, sleeping with an arm as a pillow. They took pity on him, just recently admitted into the 6th, first operation. He hadn’t slept three days before the transfer out of excitement. Apparently he always wanted to be a Special Forces Operator, bought into all the holovids as a kid. He had started crying in his sleep two hours ago, they had been ignoring it.

“The Captain didn’t make it.” The voice pulled him out of his thought, the man still puffing on his cigarette. Giles’ own still brning despite the light sucks he had administered. “Kail bled out on the east. Sergeant Bools hasn’t tried to make contact in a few hours. He’s either dead or ran off. He wasn’t much help anyway.” The other male sniffed and took another drag and blew it in the face of his sergeant. Neither of the men cared.

“Okay. Go help Surly with gear. Sort out everything. Make sure everyone has ammo, tell the two working the dead to finish what they can, tag them then kit up…” He trailed off like he thought he should say something else. The Marine took it that he was finished and shuffled off. He rolled to his knees and took one more drag of his cigarette and dropped it to be rolled onto by his knee pad. He found his long barreled sniper and backed up in the room on his knees. They were lucky that the stairwell was cast in darkness and directly in front of the window. He crawled on his belly up the stairs then rolled to his back. He sat up just enough to look down the optic and out the window to survey what he could. It had been quiet for nearly thirty minutes, the One front they hadn’t been able to control was their timer on when to leave, the other two kept up sporadic shooting. Apparently all the big guns and heavy shot was busy, that was the only reason they had a roof over their heads.

His breath caught sharply when he saw salvation and doom. A walker down the slope they wanted to use as a kill way. They hadn’t seen anything like that, they weren’t supposed to. The only time they were supposed to move up it was after the 6th had told them it was clear. They must have thought they failed the op, his mind scrambled hurriedly while his thudding chest picked up. He thought back to the briefing, if Operation Akk fang were to fail they would attempt to clear the overlook and eliminate it as a position for either forces. The sixth was presumed dead and in a kill-zone.

He flung himself down the stairs and caused the group to jump at the sound, grabbing weapons and turning frantically. “Kit up, move, move.” He said tightly, trying not to let his voice crack in front of them. The orange haired sergeant threw on his helmet, first trying it on backwards then finally sitting it on his bright head. His hands shook the sleeping boy who woke up with a scream. A glove muffled his mouth and his modulated voice spoke to him. “Move.”. He couldn’t think of anything else to say, it seemed the most apt if not a bit vague. But the youngling took heed and moved to gather his rifle and belt.


By the time he turned to look at the others grabbing their things his peripheral exploded and his visor obscured with liquid. The wall lined with the corpses exploded and sent the remnants of their honored dead all over them. He wiped his visor and ran, not bothering to crouch, his hand not gripping his rifle, seeing the newest member of the Celosians hunched on the ground over his rifle he had been fumbling to prepare. The limb unoccupied reached out and hooked under the back of his neck and against the top of his armor. He kept dragging the dead weight to the other group who were already on the move to the door. The boy he pulled along with adrenaline hadn’t moved for a few meters, he stopped and rolled him over, his windpipe whistled to the exposed air while it tried to breathe in the last bit of oxygen it so desperately wanted. His eyes had already rolled back into his head, he stopped trying to breathe.

“Blanck! Go!” The deep bellow of Surly rolled from the doorway, the helmeted Marine now realizing he was trying to put pressure on the spacious bloody mess of the dead Marine’s neck. He quickly fumbled with his sniper rifle and stumbled to the door. He had to get past the obstacle of one of the medics who took bolt to the chest. As soon as he half rolled out the door his world erupted again. The red blaster fire of Imperial forces was a color the Marines rarely feared, but now the blood red ripped and tore aiming to harm them. The two other fronts of Republic troops behind and to the East of them were pushing toward the same place they were, wanting to defend the outcropping of buildings and roads. The Troopers were far too busy looking for the main attackers to see the four running Imperials, but they would not hesitate to cut them down if they came upon them.

Their boots pounded the hard walkway toward the next building, the Republic forces that had wanted them dead for two days directly ahead of them, now busy with the attacking Walkers. The remaining four running fearful and covered in the blood of their brothers and friends. The last medic hadn’t had time to pull on his body armor and opted to only put on his helmet and run in boot and rifle in hand. Blanck was running forward, he looked to the left one moment to see the panting helmeted figure, then a few loud hisses by their heads, blaster bolts. It caused the last sergeant to duck and cover his own helmet with upraised arms. But soon he stood back upright and looked over again, the half armored medic was nowhere to be seen..

Eyes closed, he continued to run the rest of the way. It felt like days, hours, then seconds as he slammed blindly into the building by the back entrance. He opened his eyes and huffed the stale blaster-hot air, lifting his helmet to vomit then pull it back on, bile dripping down his chin and into the collar of his armor. The other two men were on the other side of the door, both bloody and hunched like hungry and dejected Akk pups. But their eyes gleamed in a defiance only the hopeless could find.

It took a moment to realize he had dropped his rifle and ran without a weapon in his hands. His blaster pistol was drawn and held in two hands without cursing as would be per usual, it was too late to be angry. Now it was all training, that was the only thing that would get him out of this mess. His head turned to see the oncoming troops from the distance they had just covered, he took one last suck of vomitus laced air and nodded at his comrades. The alien across the portal turned and lifted a short, heavy blaster and blew the panel on the door, it hissed open with a mechanicla reluctance, the man behind the breacher walked around and went in first, then followed by the pistol wielding noncom. They ran without much of a plan, it only took two turns into the front of the building until they saw gleaming white armor.

They were the predators now, and they had the jump on the white troopers. The three opened fire, a few turning and screaming their position. Giles raised his pistol and fired two bolts into the face of a white helmet, the first bolt ripping the mask open and the second killing the man. Unencumbered by long rifle Giles moved forward while the other two tangled with their own mess, his shoulder snapped back as he felt a bolt bounce off the dark durasteel, he pivoted on a foot to return the attack only to see the Trooper close and swinging his rifle like a club. the Imperial’s arm encased in durasteel was raised to take the brunt of the blow it spun him to the side and he rode the momentum, one hand holding the pistol and firing from the hip to hit the Trooper in the chest three times, killing the man. But in his wild spin another had lashed out with the butt of his rifle, Giles’ ducked it and shoved the barrel of his blaster in the man’s codpiece and blew out his genitals and sent him writhing and gagging to the ground. His boot slipped on some blood as he ran forward to assist the other two who were now grappling with their own white-clad enemies. The smoker was on his back and a large helmeted Republic troop was over him, pressing the barrel of his red-hot blaster to his face, the fellow Marine wriggling in agony as the barrel scarred his face. The sergeant leapt with a knee out and slammed plate against plate, pushing the torturer off and to his back. The now scarred man too busy in shock to assist, Giles jumped on top of the now supine Trooper and deftly pushed the barrel under his helmet and against his neck. One squeeze of the trigger and the man’s head was nearly severed.
A boot found home against his helmet while he was turning to clear the room, it was sent careening to the wall, falling not far off. He blinked away the black and looked up at the enemy without a helmet of his own struggling to unhook a vibroknife from his belt. “Shit, shit, shit..” Giles heard him crack, voice heavy in fear. He didn’t look much older than his own dead Marine he had tried to drag from the riptosed building. He didn’t hesitate to shoot him in the head from his back.
The din was still loud, and was added too as the back of the building was blown off then by the two figures rolling down the stairs, slashing with knives and elbows and fists. The Zabrak redder than anything he had ever seen was snarling like a beast in chains, the foe was grunting and struggling to wrestle out the knife the Zabrak held. No shot was available without the fear of hitting the old Marine. Giles holstered his blaster pistol and moved into the furious match, he waited for a split second for the man to win over on Surly, ontop, Giles picked up his helmet and used it to crack the back of the solider’s skull open. Instantly the Trooper went rigid, then the furious sergeant slammed the white helmet against his head again and again until he painted the two sets of white with blood.
“It’s clear.” Surly said in a tired voice struggling to make it audible over the breaking of duracrete and shelling. The clubber dropped the helmet and looked at the bodies, seven in total they had lain out in that brief span. He wiped his lips with a wrist and ended up streaking it with more blood. The Marine with the new scar stood hunched, hands on his knees and looking terribly tired.
Sergeant Blanck forced out a huffing, raw throat laugh. “Well fuck. That was pretty good.” The Zabrak gave a deep growl sound that was probably a chuckle, the other plasma stained man smiled then grimaced. The shelling started up again and the building shook. They didn’t speak, only ran, out of fear they ran in a circle and past the back door they came in then found exit. The remnants ran and saw the Walker and approaching forces. They waved their arms over their heads and screamed, nothing, words weren’t what they needed, just sound.

One stray bolt from the men went through the gap between Surly and Giles, they didn’t jump or flinch, only kept gesturing and screeching. A group of men broke rank and ran forward, they circled around them and escorted the coughing, panting and blood soaked mongrels.

————————————————————————————————————————-

His orange hair was still bright even while he sat with a bowed head in the browning armor, his lips and two fingers busy with a cigarette. They had been moved to a Forward Base a few klicks back, Surly was a few feet away with the scarred Marine, talking to some others and giving a report. They had at least taken that burden off him. The tips of two bright black boots came into his view and his eyes panned up to see a thin man with a wide face and in a crisp grey uniform.

“Sergeant Giles Blanck. I am Major Nalter, I come on behalf of Imperial Intelligence. Seems you have earned some notice from the Watcher that recieved the first reports of the action.”

“Intelligence only takes Officers I thought. Seems a little early after the action too..” The Marine said lazily, skeptically.

“Both true. Which is my first bit of good news. You have been promoted, congratulations Captain.” The Agent didn’t salute or offer his hand for a shake. “We are at War, Captain Blanck. We need good men. We can of course give you a few days rest before you are to go to Kaas City…” He trailed off as the tall orange haired warrior pulled himself up. The prospect looked to the other two he had lived through the ordeal with. The newly scarred male didn’t bother to lift his head. Surly looked and they locked eyes a moment. He only nodded and looked away.

“What is the earliest we can depart?” The Captain inquired.


The Agent slowly smiled.

“Right now.”

////

Audio:File77H…

Doctor Graben INTVW: Sergeant Surrl Gur’kazu..///////

“And during this entire… Fiasco… Did then Sergeant Blanck ever hesitate? Balk? Seemed from the reports he lost his rifle and helmet, not to mention most of his Unit…”

“He made do with what he had. Adapt and overcome.”

“I see… It also reads that the Captain has a slight history of… Disobedience.”

“I don’t know what you are fishing for, Doctor. Seems you twist words to hear what you want no matter what.”

“Oh no, no… Just looking for input. He regards you as somewhat of a mentor… A friend. You gave him those tattoos on his thighs. He gave you one too, correct?”

“Yes.”

“So tell me, apologies if this sounds like a question I have already asked, as a whole, do you think Captain Blanck is a suitable candidate for a Field Agent?”

“I do. If you keep a beast in the habitat they need. They will remain content, and if you are lucky maybe it will follow your commands, if you treat it well.”

“Do you think Captain Blanck is a ‘Beast’?”

“Of the worst kind, Doctor.”

««AUDIO CEASE»»

His eyes peeled open like sliding mussels, they flicked back and forth in the dark of the strange room he had found bed in. Though only strange in the fact he had never been there until now, even as many times as she shared his cabin. He slid magnificently from the bed in impressive form only achieved by slipping from the comforter unknown and without awakening the partner. But for now it was at least of consideration for the woman and not to avoid unwanted conversation. They had slept easy when he had gotten in later than she probably expected. Nothing occurred between them but a few mutual words and a shared pillow. It was nice to get of the Silver Bitch and sleep with something without claws. He dressed in what he had brought over from his locker on the Viperian. Plain grey work clothes and a low fitting cap. He replaced spiked heels and thigh high leather for plain ankle high boots and leatheris trousers like a second skin for some comfortably tight scuff resistant slacks. He only glanced at her to make sure she was still asleep when he left.

His soft soled steps echoed in the large cavernous halls of the Viperian with a comforting kind of silence. Only the occasional mouse droid or posted Marines disturbed his echoing feet. But soon left alone after crossing a few thresholds he shifted the box of tools in his right hand with a metal jangle, the other hand pulling the cap back to show his eyes the glory of the machines. Walls lined and glowing with whirring parts and glowing bulbs, readouts of every color and with every rune in the language. He grinned and pulled off his cap and flicked it to the floor, and unbuttoned the top of his shirt to let the stifling air flow a bit through his cloth.

Before the beast Viperian woke he was at work making her purr. His head and upper body plunged into the womb of the technical wonder. A light held firmly in his pearly fangs to illuminate his fingers while they hooked up a machine that provided electrical readouts and data straight to his datapad which laid near his half exposed legs. Now his manipulating digits pulled wires and exchanged components for shiny new bits or provided a sprits of lubricant to make a section hum in delight. He engorged himself on the work, drank every bit of sweat that was awarded for his masterful work in making the innards of the Viperian perform at unparalleled rates. It was not often he fed his hunger for creating and maintaining. Usually it was compartmentalized into making a new chip for his terminal or datapad, or a new augmentation in a rifle. But now it was on a grand scale.

He took his time and thought of nothing but colors and flowing currents. He was neither happy nor sad, he was a void. A perfect space of knowledge and experience given shape to long arms and fingers. A deity of technology and the muse of his ship. For in those brief hours inside her bowels, he was her. But when he was done and sitting in the colorful illumination of a happy spaceship, he sat in the center of her and polluted her stale hot heat with a cigarette and a smile.

A long pale limb rose from the placid blue water, steam raising off it like a summonsed from the liquid. The long limb was thin but shapely; defined a more apt word, thin and long muscles hidden in tight, soft skin. A vibrorazor held in pencil long and thin fingers, tattooed and beautiful but rather skeletal and ghastly. The humming sharps purred over the skin and sliced the follicles from the oiled thing. The pairing hand followed close behind, testing and stroking his calf and down his thighs which bore jagged thornish black lines around a long tattooed knife in the center of the angry thistle. . Heel broke the water first in a gentle sink, then the twin leg, much the same, matching black ink and all.

The Watcher hummed softly to the tune of the soft electronic music in the back, a haze of slow beats and trance like thuds. His working hands took a break to ash his cigarette. What a god idea it had been to install a tub. Not much else to spend your slush fund on when I.I. was beyond rich. They were theEmpirefor star’s sake. With aid of Spice and depressants and a very small glass of bubbly brew, he finally coaxed himself up from the bottom of of it all. It had been a long time since he had been so down trodden, it came in flurries through his life, but as he aged he managed to keep level. The manic stages had never been as high as when he was a Marine. When his body was naked and uninitiated, tattoos, women and drink. Hungover patrols and laughing nights in some blind when they were to be silent.

His body slinked further up out of the water, the busy but sluggish palm and digits rubbed oil into his already smooth chest, the razor joining after the flesh was prepared. Bits of ash dropped into the blue kolto-water, a diluted substance of the healing drips. The Agent hummed but it turned into a mewl of disapproval. He shrugged his bony shoulders and went back to work. The distance that had grown behind himself and the others had grown great. He half missed everyone, strange indeed. He needed to reconnect, for his own sake, he hated when self-preservation was flicked off by those pesky ghosts in your head.

His neck dropped back and onto a towel on the edge of tub, eyes dropped closed, hair and face still dry until he draped a wet and warm towel over his face. It felt like he was asphyxiating himself for a moment until he realized he could breathe. Just enough. He sat that way and remembered, flicking through the images in his brain, Juke and Donal… They had been plenty thought on. Not right now. Calm. Water.

Harith and Tybel were in some way his saviors… Maybe a bit strong of a word, but they helped him up, gave him a hint of how foolish he had been. He should send a gift sometime. Nesmara, had he forgotten of that Chissling? His agent, no she had not been forgotten, maybe pushed away but he could not easily forget her. So much he wished to say, how he wished to bring her under him. A protege or something. A part.

Then others took their turns in the spotlight of his memory. Kida, he still wanted to bed her. But just to prove he could. Bring her to his level, pull her head out of her ass so he could… Vulgar. Calm. But he knew she was better, that was part of it, he could never catch up to her, she was smarter and faster. Sooner or later experience and wisdom fade when the younger gain it. She deserved his job much like Nesmara. But she would never let him tutor her, help her, too proud. What a shame.

Annamara had been captured or something of the like. He hadn’t seen her in a month or so, they didn’t click anymore. He took a piece of her life and held onto it, for what reason? She wouldn’t understand how much he needed her to molt. She was a part of his life no matter who wanted it. Kayne was a part which never pleased him, still didn’t. Nothing he could do, it wasn’t too bad when they both never opened it, private. But the threat of her cracking into his mind..? Somewhat obnoxious.

He removed the cloth from his face and slowly folded upward and slipped gracefully from the tub and lightly dabbed his nearly hairless form before he pulled into a long plush red robe he had stored away. He couldn’t even remember the last time he wore it. It was nice. Barely damp soles of his feet carried him in a glide into his room. He sat down and turned on his holoprojector directly connected to his datapad. Music began playing today and he read through his comms and the like. He paused to turn and prepare a cigarette of grey gabbaki. Smoke drizzling smoothly from his lips, he crawled further up into his bed to sit and kick his legs out.

Soon he would replace the robe with a uniform and he would soldier on.

About time.

He hadn’t left the Silver Bitch in a few days except for some vitals and the daily dredge to get a pack of smokes. His bed hadn’t been made since the incident and his.. Lover? No.. J’kara. She had left to do stars know what. He wanted to care, he did for a little bit when she came and held him. But as soon as she left he felt empty and flat again. Maybe that was love, he just thought it was stupid. He sat at his desk in his quarters, a fist propping up his chin while he stared at a datapad. There were only so many reports to read, so many data analyses to do before it was all done. He finished all that in a hour and caught up and moved on. It didn’t help but take his mind off the ache and keep his hands busy. But work never lasted long when you were ‘talented’ was that the word she used? No… Genius? Something, he hated forgetting.

His tattooed knuckles speaking of something he would never have rubbed against his eyes and he sat back and lit up. There wasn’t much to do besides play with Puddles and do the occasional project now. HE might just kill himself out of boredom. No… Not yet, it was too soon after the first try, he would keep plugging along for now, see how it went. Worse comes to worse he had a blaster, that wouldn’t fail, wouldn’t be as much fun. But it was effective. The Watcher breathed in deep to feel his lungs burn, it helped pull his thoughts away from that. He stood on bare feet and walked out of hte room to leave his Akk to sleep.

The metal cabinet creaked and groaned protest when it was pulled open, he never dug about the weapons locker much anymore, no point in it. He stared at the two long barreled rifles, beautiful custom pieces of metal he had made himself. His long fingers wrapped around the cold barrel and pulled it out. His hand cycled it with a satisfying thunk of metal and plastics. It felt good to pull the butt to his shoulder again, it felt better to look down the optic. It left him with better memories… Well not better, gunning down the helpless and the people just fighting for what they believe wasn’t ideal. But at least back then he could catch a break, back then he didn’t have to worry about women or being useful. He had a place, a job and he was incredible at it. Now? Out of his element.

He sat down on the cold durasteel and smoked again, the rifle in his lap. Thoughts drifting to his new ‘brother’. Not by blood, by bond, Tybel. He was the sweetest sentient he had ever met, he loved him, he finally admitted. More than anyone else, more than Puddles. That made him chuckle to himself. But it brought the agent another pain, he almost left him. The attempt at suicide hurt J’kara, hurt Harith and Luaryn, but truthfully? He didn’t care, maybe embarrassment when J’kara found his intentions… But Tybel… No, guilt, and sadness. The marked fingers tightened around the barrel and his eyes stung. He made a note to talk to his brother more.

Golden irises and black pupils stared down at the grey rifle again. He needed to get out, he was getting itchy and nervous. He stood up and began to pack. A single change of clothes, some gear for camping and enough spice and drugs to keep him happy, that was his luggage. It all fit in one large gear bag. It thudded dully when it hit the unkempt bed. The armoire was gutted and he found an old Marine uniform, worn and dirty, he pulled it on, it still had his badges marking him a sergeant. His hands rolled up the selves to his elbows to proudly show the geometric and the twisting black on his arms. Leather pants were forsaken for dark blue trousers and thigh high heels swapped for thick boots. He turned and looked in the mirror, it didn’t fit as snug anymore, he had lost a lot of weight. But he looked tired and drawn, forlorn and angry. He looked just like he had gotten back from a deployment. Perfect cover. A cap was placed over his head and pulled low to cover his eyes. He left a command for his droid to tell anyone that poked about or called to ‘Fuck off. The Master is on vacation.’

Vacation. That word felt soured since his… Companion, that was a decent term, had used it to describe her lover. Sabbatical, that’s what he was going on. A hunting trip to the jungles of Dromund Kaas, fight the unbeatable, at least if he died there he would have a better excuse. He was walking with his head down, rifle held by the receiver and bag slung over a scrawny shoulder. He was waiting in the queue for the shuttle to Kaas City there he would rent a speeder that he would never return, use fake documents and drive it deep into some part of the jungle to kill whatever the stars let cross his path. What a man. He laughed again getting a worried look from the woman in front of him. Piss off. He thought.

Finally, something that felt knew leaked into his body excitement, that was it. He was ready to leave for a while, fuck J’kara, she could have her lover for his leave, go fish or fuck or fight whatever she did. The Captain could space himself, have his spoils, let him love his half-lie and kiss her bald body, someday he would learn the truth and then he would probably still fawn over her say something like ‘I don’t care what you are. I love you no matter what.’. What a joke. It didn’t matter. Fuck Kida, let her play her games and manipulate, let her hack his Watcher feeds if she could do it,  let her smirk and think she was the greatest thing since the bantha burgers, in the end she would figure out her life was pointless. Piss on the Patriarch and his minions, the cult could blindly kneel and scuff their knees for him, grovel in his perceived glory, maybe a few would learn he was nothing special, just another Sith with an agenda. Fuck Red too, her nymphomania could be satiated on some other sap, he didn’t need her cock worshipping now. The Viziers could blow him, their own games and grabs for power and attempts and validation were just as stupid as everything else. Fuck them all. People only caused him trouble, heartache, headaches, and ulcers.

He settled in his seat after throwing the gear bag in the overhead compartment. The butt of his rifle was placed between his feet and he made an effort to stare at a large burly Bounty Hunter until he got uncomfortable and looked away. Fuck you too, he thought with a cathartic smirk. He dug out his holocummincator and sent a textual message to Tybel.

“I love you truly, brother. See you soon.”

Good enough. It found home back in his pants’ pocket and he adjusted his cap low over his eyes. The shuttle hummed and the captain droned something inane over the comm. His head rested against the barrel while both his hands wrapped around it to hold it steady.

His lips pulled up into a thin smile. Eyes shut and body hunching and relaxing.

It felt good to hate yourself sometimes.

He hadn’t moved since he woke up from the black. It was strange, he remembered entering his ship and taking Puddles into the escape pod, giving her enough food for a week and then going to his room. He found his special box opened it, he thought it would take more courage than it did. It was as easy as the last time, tie the tourniquet, slap the arm, pierce the vein, depress the plunger. Sleep. That’s all he did, got as high as he had ever been and blacked out. He thought he was dead, he hoped he was but then something dragged him from the inky dark. A voice, he knew it, the Priestess. She demanded him to come back, to fight it. Fight what he did to himself. Reverse it, she gave him a second chance.

Then another voice. That was the one that yanked him back, she was furious, scared, emotional. Emotion that’s what got him where he was, half dead laying in his own piss. Yet it’s what saved him too. But not his. Hers… Her. He started to breathe and it tasted like stale water and bile. The air tasted like smoke and his body ached, it felt like he was dipped in a bath of acid. He remembered how warm and comfortable the black was, peaceful, nothing mattered. He was debating whether or not to just give up and succumb to the spice but then he felt her breath on his icy fingers. Her kisses and happiness that he wasn’t dead, that he was gulping down the filthy air and the anger that built in her because of his ‘mistake’.

It wasn’t an accident. It was most likely a cry for help, that’s what they always tell you. The first attempt is a cry for help, they usually didn’t want it to succeed. It didn’t and he fought to come back, so it could have been just a wanting grasp for her affection. He knew that if he did this she would emote for him, she would think just about him. Not the other. He hoped this wasn’t true.

He blinked and looked down, Puddles had sneaked her way up to lay her head in his lap, tail draped over his legs and her body threatening to fall off the edge of the bed. But she stayed obediently, protectively. Her underdeveloped fangs poking up and catching the dim light like two white peaks. He smiled weakly, that was his only regret. If it had happened, that he would leave his beautiful girl behind. His hand fumbled along her scaled hide, she didn’t shift, the clumsy fingers resting on the crest of her hard skull, between her eyes. While his head was up he looked about, a glint was seen on the desk, metal, he narrowed his foggy eyes and made out a long metallic staff. A saberstaff, one he had seen at the hip of his savior.

His eyes clammed up, he ached for that black again, he wanted to fade away, he knew he failed her. When she heard his true intentions, that he wanted to die, she took it personally, he drove her away methodically. He didn’t mean to. But he did. He didn’t know anything anymore. He just snapped and reacted, he didn’t think when she was involved. But the attempt wasn’t just over her. No that was foolish. It was an accumulation of worthlessness. No one really needed him about anymore, Kida was parsecs beyond him in computer tech. She could easily take his job. Too many others were better shots and better combatants. He was just the sarcastic Watcher. A nuisance. A bother.

Wetness slithered down his temples and into his ears. He did not sob, he did not move, he only cried and wished sleep. But he couldn’t, either the spice or his own dammed up emotion kept him in the terrible, feeling world of the living.

He had another chance now. Maybe he would take it and actually try.

Spliced onto the end of the other recording the image would spit out the Watcher sitting again in a chair, again with a cigarette in his fingers. He looked strung out and pale, thin and old. His eyes turned to face the recorder like a man facing his execution. “We got the the Base on Dromund Kaas, the largest Marine training station. It was a city in itself always moving and incredibly grey.” His lungs sucked deep the grey smoke before expelling it out at the recorder in a cloud acidic particles.

“They herded us off with the standard amount of barking and yelling. Pushups were done and the roll call was done. We were stuffed with a lunch of stale rations and water. The next week was a processing obstacle course. Checking our ears, eyes and bodies for defects. I didn’t worry they would find me out. I was too good.” He smirked flatly, finding no joy in his achievement. “First week into the Empire’s service and I already had conned them into believing me. Not a bad start.”

His long finger engraved with an Aurebesh G tapped ash away without care of making a mess. “After the whole week of bantha shit we started. Running, lots of running, I learned to like it. It felt good to spit up what the cigarette smoke had cased my lungs with. It felt good to just move without a purpose. Just follow the man in front of you.” He looked off camera, “I should run again.” He took another drag.

“My body got bigger, they only fed us protein and carbohydrates. With the calisthenics and the courses we ran I was soon pushing about 230 pounds by the peak of it.” He glanced down at his thin tattooed arms, he couldn’t be more than one hundred and sixty pounds now. He flicked away the cigarette and lit another to hold between his lips while he spoke. “We started to shoot a few weeks in, standard issue blasters and pistols. Grenades, everything was pretty basic. I excelled in shooting and combat skills, Orange Thunder they called me when we took one another on the mats.” He laughed quietly, almost sadly, but he kept it in check with an inhale of fresh smoke.

“I gained marksman status, expert with rifles and pistols. I didn’t really care, I just liked to shoot.” He blinked slowly while he rolled the filter of the cigarette between his forefinger and thumb. “I saw him for the first time on the range. He was bigger than me, taller. Everyone around the base knew him. He was the Captain of a Recon Platoon. He looked… Invincible.” He looked at the cigarette for a moment then broke off the filter and shifted deeper into the chair.

“I was infatuated with him. Pure childish wonder and fascination, I wanted to touch him so bad it made my hands hurt.” His fists balled up and only relaxed after he took a deep breath. “Time went on, I finished training and finished my Specialization Program and became a sniper. I was attached to a Special Forces Group, everyone thumped me on the back and some hated me. I didn’t care either way. I just wanted them to leave me alone.” His lip twitched and he quickly brought the unfiltered smoke to his mouth, moving fast enough ash dropped like filthy snow on his lap.

“But then he came back. I felt the same thudding in my chest and the same ache in my head and tightness in my throat. Sam… He had a good name.” His lips parted to show his teeth and he shook his head, “So I got my confidence up, went to the Mess early and sat in the spot next to where I knew he sat. Of course I had done my reconnaissance for a few days. We ate silently, kindred spirits without knowing it. The chronometer moved and it was time to go, and we stood and our hands touched…” He closed his eyes slowly, speaking quietly now “It felt likefireon my arm it made my chest heat up and my loins ache. Then he looked at me, he gave me a shy smile and I returned it.” He laughed just as quiet as he spoke, a near giggle. “Two large men sharing that look… It must have been a sight. But no one saw it. We were glad for that.”

His eyes opened again and he took another inhale to rest before speaking again. Voice growing raspier and drier with each drag of the rough tobacc. “We started to run together. He invited me to. Miles and miles in silence, it felt good. Then we started to talk while we ran, then we walked and ran. Then we just sat and spoke. Always about the present and the future, never what happened before the Corps. We were purely in our own, only looking ahead. I was eighteen. He was Twenty four.”

He swallowed hard, “Our Captain called us to meet and told us of our first assignment, we were to be the forward operating platoon aboard a destroyer en route to Balmoraa. That was the first time I felt nervous. He told us we were leaving in two days. I found Sam and he was happy, he smiled and rubbed my arm…” His own hand absently stroked over his shoulder and outer arm. “He told me to be safe and be strong. That I was the best he had eve seen. Then we kissed. It was soft and he tasted like smoke and kaf. I melted into him behind the barracks he used. The sounds of humming transporters and discharging blasters faded away until I felt his strong heart thump into mine like it wanted to replace it. When we broke he smiled again. He told me something…” The Watcher blinked rapidly, looking away, “… That is for me though.”

There was a brief stretch of silence as he finished of the smoke and tossed it away. His dry soft voice spoke again as he met the camera with his eyes. “We boarded the Cathar Cutter and moved into Hutt Space to rendezvous with a small group of Imperial Intelligence Officers. Life aboard the vessel was mundane. Nothing happened worth noting, not in the beginning. We got a short leave and most of the Spec Ops guys, myself included, decided to head to Nar Shadaa. We went to the cantinas and fucked pretty girls. The last night we had I found myself alone in a Spice Den, dirty and quiet I sat awkwardly on a couch. The most beautiful Rattataki I have ever seen… No wait… Second most beautiful… Came up to me and told me for a few credits she could make me relax. I thought she was a whore so I gave her the money..” He laughed again a rasping sound, “She pulled out this needled and set to work on me… I didn’t complain.”

He sat up in his chair only to sag forward and rest sharp elbows against his knobby knees. “Before I knew it I was seeing colors I didn’t know existed and everything felt like ice and magma and electricity rolled into a ball and rubbed across your skin. Like an orgasm that didn’t end. Or you didn’t think it would. I fucked the Rattataki and she gave me another hit after I paid her twice. One for her and one for the Spice. I woke up the next day, I had two hours to meet back up with the Squad before we left. I bought some Ryll and met back up.”

His fingers idly rubbed at his bruised and tattooed inner elbow. “We got back and headed for Balmoraa, I did most of the Ryll by myself which is how I usually was. But I got stupid left it out and not in my sniper barrel like I usually hid it. ONe of the Officers found it, there was barely any left. I got a reaming, a reprimand and a hefty fine. I shrugged and they sent me back to my quarters. Nothing else happened until we got to the Core.”

The Agent fidgeted again and reached up to thread his hands behind his head. “I had been studying Balmoraa, I liked it. Interesting. The Resistance there and what cities they used to have. Now a toxic planet of violence and strife. I still like it.” He said that with a smirk. “We were the first off, Akk Squad, we called ourselves. We did patrols and the like, standard. But it started to chance when we got a New Captain. Yalza was his name. I was a Sergeant at the time and he didn’t like our No Fucks Given attitude. Thought we were no better than regular Army. We promptly told him to piss off. We ran a lot that day.” He laughed with an edge of humor at that.

“Things got bad fast… We started killing civilians.” He said bluntly. “Dug mass graves and just blasted them and kicked them in. The funny thing about close range shot with blasters is there is no blood. It just cauterizes their brains and everything. A neat hole, bout this big.” He held up his hands in a circle, index fingers connected at the tip and thumbs as well. “Men, women, few children. Didn’t matter we mowed them down all the same. You got numb to it.” He rolled his shoulders stiffly. “But I still tired of the killing. Yalza told us to raid a house, it was a small little shack, couple Dewbacks out front and a kid in the yard. I just spit n his face and he kicked the shit out of me. I could have taken him. I was bigger, stronger… But I didn’t want to get discharged. I took the beating. It wasn’t bad, he hit like a pussy.” He smiled around another smoke while his lighter hissed out a blowtorch like flame sparked the end.

“I got my first tattoo on Balmorra too.” He pointed to his left arm, the swirling marks starting from wrist and going up until it was hidden under his clothing. “Then I got the other…” He pointed to the right, jagged black marks like lightning or tears did the same as the juxtaposed limb. “I loved them. Thought they were beautiful. I made my body a canvas for some of the greatest artists in the galaxy. It was an honor.” He took a drag and blew it out his nose, “I was still hitting the needle, I managed to find it wherever I went.” He said in an off hand manner.

“I was Twenty two now. We were back in the fleet aboard another destroyer, playing a lot of Sabacc. Then this tiny little guy in a pressed uniform brought me into his office. His name was Minder 55. I knew what he was before he said it. Imperial Intelligence are easy to spot. Stick up their ass to their gills and an annoying way of talking like they know they are better than you. They aren’t,” He scratched his chest idly and continued. “He told me he looked over my record and showed me things I didn’t even know. It scared me… But It made me so… Intrigued. I wanted that power, to know everything. He told me I could have a spot in the next class at the Imperial Intelligence Training Program. He told me to sleep on it. I didn’t. I left the next day for Kaas city.”

His hands flexed, two on the left hand keeping together to hold the cigarette. “I had to get a psych. eval. it was stupid. I blazed through it, jumped all the hoops and ended it giving them the middle finger.” His lips tugged into a grin again, “I got into the program and got trained up. Despite what many thing… This…” HE gestured with both hands, “Romantic idea of the training. It was mostly class work, a little field training but nothing I hadn’t done as a Marine. I didn’t take any notes and at night I studied to get a degree in chemistry. It would be harder to get Spice as an Agent.” He clenched his jaw and shook his head but didn’t say anything.

“IITP gave you schooling too, like university just at an accelerated pace. I got my certificates and all that. Boring. Terribly boring.” He shrugged and began to look impatient. “They made me a field Agent. I was back on Balmorraa. I did a few missions, did them damn well and I got noticed. My Watcher told me I was on route to becoming a Cipher. I didn’t give a fuck, I just wanted them to stop talking to me.” His hands ran through his orange hair and fell to his lap, now without a cigarette they were free to interlace.

“Operation Akk Fang. I was paired with these two Mercs I.I had apprehended. They had these slave collars on, but on the back… There was this blue container, needles in their spinal column pumping them with drugs. They were like droids but capable of more independent thought without too much of it. I was given control and we were told to go assist on a raid on a Republic Compound. Strictly disguised as a small Rebel faction. It was an Op that had taken years to set up…” A thin hand came up and pressed to his chest. “And I fucked it up.” He said angrily, a sudden outburst of emotion. He stood up and kicked the chair over. The holo was knocked to the ground and it faded out.

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When resumed the image was now of the orange haired addict sitting against a wall. Bare feet planted on the ground and his forearms resting on his knee caps. One folded back to rub at his forehead and then through his hair. “Operation Akk Fang.” He repeated again, slowly, deliberately. “I was posted on over-watch with the two drones. They were manning optics, scanning and reporting for me. A target pinged and they notified me.” He pulled his lips into his mouth and chewed them as he thought how to proceed.

“It was a small group of speeders. Three, unscheduled and they were coming near our S.O.G group. I leveled up, knocked the first one off his speeder easy. Hit the second, but the third.” He closed his eyes tight and groaned softly. “I hit his fucking strut. I popped it and the other dug into the ground and he flipped and screamed. His speeder exploded when it hit a rock formation. The rest of the troops came pouring out just soon enough to see the S.O.G” He balled up a fist and pressed it to the bridge of his nose. “Shit hit the fan and it hit fast.”

“I started to just let loose. I dropped dozens and dozens until my barrel started to go red. The two Mercs were getting their fill too. But.. It wasn’t enough.” He shifted higher up on the wall while he spoke. “They obliterated the S.O.G Luckilly they were sterile and didn’t I.D them as Imperial. Thank the Stars for that at least. But they found our position and rushed us. I did what I can until they closed off. I threw the detonators I had to pin them down and popped the detonite nearby.” Again his eyes dropped closed.

“It was hot as a star that day, and I remember the sky being blue… Then I just had this… Idea… Sudden brilliance.” His eyes opened to show the gold rimmed portals of black. “I keyed up my map and told the two where to go. They ran without hesitation, bolts ripping by. I steadied myself and blind fired over my cover, rapid to pin them down. Then I ran. I just… Ran..” The Watcher looked off camera, “I ran for a few klicks then started to get tired so I tossed my rifle. I ran further and then cut off my vest and dropped my armor. I ran and ran until I made it to the field station.”

He rose up, the camera following his moves, he began to pace in a small space. “I told them what had happened. The missed shot and the over running. I told them that I had to detonate the collars on the Mercs. It was protocol to destroy evidence. The Watchers and Minders and other Field Agents didn’t look at me for a while. I had gotten fifteen good Operatives killed.” He shrugged and took his chin in two fingers while he paced. “They gave me a medal. Bullshit about valor in the middle of confrontation and the death toll I had mounted on the Republic. It made me want to vomit when it touched my chest.” He clamped his jaw hard and shook his head.

“I met up with the two a few weeks later. They were nearly dead, drank all their water and ate their food. I planned for this and nursed them to health. Then I took off their collars and sent them to a connection I knew on Nar Shadaa, he owned a Spice Den and would take care of them. Get them hooked on real drugs and learn to be real again. They respected me after that, the two. We worked together for a while to earn extra credits. My own personal Merc Company. The Hangmen. Black lists and no names. It was perfect.”

His long bare fingers slipped into his pockets as he squared up to the recorder again. Still standing, “Then when they offered me a Watcher position I pounced. They wanted me out of the field. Failure was not for Ciphers and that’s what I am. The man who killed Akk Fang and the Drone Project.” He shrugged apathetically, slim shoulders hunching upward.

“The Mercs either died or slipped off to do their own work. It doesn’t matter, I know they won’t betray me. I am the reason they live. I am… Was… Their protector.” He looked away, giving the camera his profile. Long nose proponent against his small chin. “Here I am now. A Watcher. A failure. An addict and a murderer.” His head slowly rotated to the recorder.

“And I fucking hate all of those things.”

The image faded away with the tall and emaciated Watcher standing with hands hidden and back straight. A burning look of hate and sorrow plastered on his soft featured visage.

Just realized I could turn on the setting for people to comment on my stuff. Whoops… Also allowed questions to be asked and all that. So please do! Reblog, do the tumblr thing. Thanks for reading :)

(( TUMBLR EXCLUSIVE: I decided I was going to do a post of Giles’ musing and filming his memoirs. WARNING: Triggers inside, no doubt those reading this know this writing can get a bit… Dark. It will be dark here and I don’t want anyone reading upset. This is the first chunk. I am not totally pleased with it (a writers thing). So feedback on a reply or a vote to post the rest would be appreciated :). This long post is for my consistent readers, they will get to see all of Giles and all of his secrets. So thank you. If you think this is good, reblog it and spread it around, that would mean a lot. Here we go! ))

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“They used to call me Mikko.”

The soft voice began before the image. It hazed in to show the Watcher sitting in a chair, chest bared to show the markings he wore so proudly. Monochrome designs spread from his wrists up and onto his shoulders and chest. The right arm wrapped in jagged lines like lightning and dull knife marks, his thin left juxtaposed by peaceful swirls and circular patterns. His tattooed knuckles were laded between his legs while he sat in plain grey pants, a cigarette between fingers somewhere in the mosh of digits. Smoke wafted up in front of him and the holocam.

“I do not know why I am recording this. I just started, now I am scared to stop.” He paused to take a drag and blow it out, still staring straight at the camera with the golden eyes gifted by spice though the big black pupils detracted away from the wreath of color. “I guess I wanted to leave something behind, maybe someone will find it after I kill myself and understand why… Why. I guess just why.” He blinked and shifted in the chair. Quiet, like he didn’t know how to go on.

“I grew up in an affluent part of Kaas. Big houses and bigger egos.” He flicked ash to the ground absently, thumb initiating the crisp maneuver. “But everyone that knows part of my history thinks I grew up in a poor complex of buildings.” His voice gave a soft laugh that didn’t seem genuine. “Sometimes I lie, because I can. Because I know people will believe it. Isn’t that fucked?”

He lit another cigarette with the end of the one previously smoked before he flicked the punk away and dragged on the new one. “We had a big house. My Father was the Head of Commerce in the Imperial Logistics Division, he didn’t come around much, probably had too many cunts in the city.” He spoke bitterly, emotion leaking into his soft voice, a strange sound, like someone letting there true accent come through. He took another drag and spoke through the haze of smoke. “I am being crude.. I shouldn’t be crude. But it was true.” He shook his head, “He was home on weekends to do work in his office then he’d be gone. On holiday he would sit on his datapad and work while we were out. He didn’t talk a lot. I wish he did.” His long fingered hand ran through his bright orange hair, the well groomed strip becoming disheveled by the mussing fingers. “He gave me this though, my brother and I both. That’s all we got besides speeders and credits.”

His long body leaned back in a lounge, his body never seemed tense, like he lacked the muscle mass to do it or was unboned and made of gelatin. His wide eyes stared at the holocam unnervingly while his jaw ground back and forth, tooth to tooth. “We needed him. Or something to give us a male to look up to. My mother had no lover, my brother and I had no model. Maybe that isn’t so bad, you know? We became our own men. I wouldn’t want to be like him.” His thin lips tightened around the cigarette and blew out thoughtfully. “Maybe I ended up like him. I did.. What a trip.” The same tense, remembering laugh came back for an encore.

“I don’t know how mother did it. Probably a lot of booze. Looking back she always seemed to drink. She never went anywhere, just sat about that big, clean, empty house by herself and just thought how fucking stupid she was.” His head drooped a bit and he exhaled hard from the bottoms of his thick lungs. “Everything was so clean.” He shook his head, brow knitting in hard thought, “Every bit had it’s place. From the couch to the vases on the end table. Sterilized, that’s a good word.” His head shook, brow relaxing. “Mother… Yes.”

His cigarette lit another in a slow chain of carcinogens and smoke to taint whatever room he lounged in. “She never cleaned though, it was always this green Twi’lek,” His hand rubbed his side absently, “She was my nanny too. I don’t remember her name. I was little..” His hand still stroked at his side, “Eight or nine, we were sitting about outside, she hade made us go, my brother and I were more comfortable in our rooms. But she stood in our lawn and danced for us. Laughing and trying to get us to join. She would get us too, make us giggle and spin and flail around. She slithered and…” His hand made a serpentine gesuture. “Moved!”He sat back and relaxed. “Our small bodies just… Jerked and bounced.” He laughed, this time it had a looser edge.

“Then Mother died.” He frowned almost at his own bluntness. “Just, gave up on it all I guess. She didn’t kill herself it was just like…” His hand thumped his chest lightly, “Her… Well she just quit. But by then we were well into primary schooling. I was Thirteen and my brother was ten. Up until then schooling was uninteresting.” He ashed his cigarette and looked back up. “It wasn’t stimulating, everyone was so slow too. I read really fast, first to learn how and didn’t stop. Every symbol and glyph I learned and read. I didn’t forget it. So I remembered.” He disposed of another cigarette on the deck.

His hands reached back and laced behind his head. “I kept up and beyond my classmates for all of it, so it never was a priority. My marks began to fall, neglecting to do projects and homework, but my test scores were above average. They called me lazy and that I did not apply myself. I didn’t argue, I didn’t talk much.” He smiled to show the front of his teeth between his lips.

“So I started to run with other rejects and the ones who did not apply themselves. Bored and rich we didn’t have much supervision or things to do. So we rode speeders and threw things not to be thrown at buildings and people. We thought it was funny.” Both his hands laid his hair down flat, running flat from front to eyes and then back to rest. “Started to smoke cigarettes and steal clothes to keep up with the fashion,I had credits but stealing was fun.” He bit his bottom lip in thought, but mostly to stop his teeth from grinding when he paused. “The first time I did ryll was about… Fourteen years old. He came up boasting about his new pusher and how all he did was blow Ryll. So he gave us all some, a little bump, child’s thing.” He held up a hand with the symbol of ‘forg’ across his knuckles. He splayed fingers, the other hand inked with ‘iven’, forefinger pointed at the webbing of his thumb and pointer. “Just a little hill of red, put it to your nose and inhaled.” Both his hands dropped to his lap. “It made me gag and sneeze. Everyone else did the same, even the kid that did it all the time.” He laughed curtly then shook his head.

He finally looked away, off the camera. “It was always rainy and dreary there in Kaas City, but some days always seemed greyer. It was a day like that, they came over, four friends of mine, I forgot their names.” He grimaced a bit, “No… I remember them. But I don’t like the sound of them. It had just got done raining and everything was dripping on my head. They were all rushed, grinning but they looked anxious, scared, pale… They told me to hurry up and follow. So I did, I didn’t have anywhere to be.” He tensed his lips again, his jaw strafing back and forth. “They took me to this alley way, clean like the rest of the City, but it felt disgusting. It was too dark. They walked me… They walked me back to an alcove where large bins were. I heard crying and snuffling before I rounded the corner. There were two more guys, older, but I knew them too.” He rolled his shoulders as if easing some tension, or preparing for more.

“There was a girl I remembered from school We had just graduated, I remember her from the ceremony where we became Citizens of the Empire. She was very pretty then, but on the ground there she was ugly and filthy. Her clothes were all torn up and her face was bleeding, she looked like she only had one eye.” He swallowed hard, paling a bit. Just a bit. “They laughed and slapped each other on the back. Now it’s a blur, I tried to forget but you can’t… You know that? It’s like deleting a hard copy of a piece of art. Other than purging it with flame… It stays around.” His hands came up and his head drooped into them. Hands rubbed his face and he made a soft sigh, speaking thickly through his hands. “They were all around her with their cocks ou—” He shook his head abruptly and stood. The Holofaded out.

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The imaged would shoot out right after the other faded. He must have spliced it together.

Now he had another cigarette in his fingers, and his eyes were wide, body seeming energized and even more relaxed. He still looked sad though, maybe it was thoughtful. “I did it too.” He picked back up again, voice louder and sure of itself. “I know I did the unthinkable. It is a thing that should never be forgiven. I still carry that black all over me. That taint.” He shivered, “But somewhere in there, in that frenzy of evil… Someone turned and shouted. I looked back too and saw him there. My little brother, he was smart, he knew what was happening. So he just looked on curiously. He was smart. Smarter than me…” He shook his head. “Maybe we were part of a genetics program. That would be exciting.” He took a drag and blew it out his nose.

Everyone stopped and looked at him, I was trying to stuff myself back in my pants and walking to him telling to leave. I was embarrassed, that is when I realized what I had just done, I felt sick. They all started to shout at me, telling me he couldn’t tell and that he would just run off and rat. But I knew he wouldn’t, I just couldn’t talk through my tight throat.” He tensed up, neck bulging and he breathed it out with a cloud of smoke. “The oldest one came up to me and told me he couldn’t leave, that he needed to die because if someone found out I would never get into a good Furthering Education Program, no one would. He convinced me there, telling me all that shit. That he would do it. It had to be done. My brother never ran away, only looked on with big curious blue eyes.” He smiled sadly, putting it on to hide the frown. “He was so smart.” He repeated.

“So I just hit him one, it hurt my hand. He fell down, then I just at him, maybe it was because I was angry at myself. Like I could beat out my own hate for myself. So I busted up my hands and kicked him when they were done. He didn’t move and I didn’t look at him. So I turned and puked while they all sped off. I was 16. I ran away, then forgot my speeder when I was a klick away, I had to run back hoping no one found him.” He let his head fall back to stare at the ceiling while he took a drag. He spoke from that position, “I got home and went straight to my datapad I had bought a while ago. It was mostly new, I used the stolen one I got a few years ago, it had all my files. I had already made a plan on the way there.” His head came forward to stare back at the Holorecorder.

“I sat there for hours and hours in solitude, no one ever came in. It took me nearly twelve hours. I had taken up a bit of a personal interest in tech and that sort of science. I started slicing people’s accounts at school, then the school and my neighbors. But never had I tried to slice Imperial Records. But I did it. I had to, necessity drove me. I made up totally new records. Banished the name Neir as my surname and left Mikko. The only risk I took was to take my brother’s name.” He straightened up and spoke slowly and precisely, “I stole Identification Numbers from a neighbor who’s son had just been born. Changed the child’s to a new set, he was young and not very spread across the Net, they would just assume a small error and take the new one. Too many babies being born. I covered my tracks and just doctored the rest. Put my age to eighteen and wrote the rest.”

He had a new cigarette and lit it, pausing only to complete the task. “Then I just slept. It was only because I was tired. I still felt sick and my fingers and head hurt. I woke up in the dark and moved downstairs in the same clothes I had worn during the.. Murder.” He said the word harshly, like he was forcing it out. “There was a little blood on my pants but I wasn’t worried. My dad was sitting and drinking, on his fucking datapad. He looked up and asked where my brother was. I shrugged, he did too, then he went back to reading. I left and made a prayer his fingers would break and he would go blind. Then maybe he’d be a real person.” His body twitched and he grunted but he wrestled  his muscles to softness.

“I took a cab into the city, then walked the rest of the way. I wasn’t worried about it, I knew I was safe from trouble now. I was confident. I rented a room in a large hotel with my false I.D, I drank everything in the personal fridge. I threw up, that’s why I don’t drink anymore.  I walked into the Marine Station nearby in the morning still in my same change of clothes. Now I looked the party of a less affluent boy and more an disgruntled teen. I handed them my documents without a word. They let me stay overnight on a cot before we left the next morning.

I boarded the shuttle with a few other dirty people and sat in silence, I think I only said yes sir once when the Sargent screamed at me.” He shrugged apathetically. “I didn’t feel like talking. Nothing to say.”

He looked to the recorder and shrugged.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

He rose and cut it off.