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Nastya's comm was ringing.
She chose to ignore it.
It continued to ring.
Unfortunately, the incessant ringing was bad for her concentration.
She picked it up.
“What.”
“I need your help.”
She sighed and wedged the comm between her ear and her shoulder. “No, you don't.”
“I do! And it's a matter of great importance.”
“I'm sure it's not.”
“It is! I need—" Raphaella paused, presumably for dramatic emphasis. “Help me, Nastya. You're my only hope.”
Nastya hung up.
There were approximately five seconds of silence before the comm rang again.
“You aren't going to leave me alone until I come down there, are you.”
“Nope.”
Nastya sighed and transferred her comm back to her hand. “Fine. But you owe me.”
When she reached the lab, assorted members of the crew were gathered around the operating table. “Please tell me this isn't what it looks like,” she said, pushing her way to see what they were looking at.
It was, in fact, exactly what it looked like.
There was a man—a familiar, red-and-black, horn-headed man—lying on the table. Well. His torso, at least. His bottom half had been completely severed—and cauterized, by the look of it.
“Absolutely not.”
“But—”
Nastya cut her off. “Ivy, what's the rule?
“Don't annoy Jonny if you don't want to spend time as a corpse.”
Nastya shook her head. “Not that one.”
“Never forget date night?”
“The one that applies to this specific situation.”
“Oh!” Ivy shifted her tone slightly. “Inviting a new member to the crew without everyone’s permission is—and I can’t believe you’re making me say this—strictly off-limits. We can’t just—mechanize people willy-nilly. What if we end up with someone truly irritating? Or worse—a pacifist.” Ivy’s impression of Jonny was really rather impressive.
“I’m not suggesting we…invite anyone anywhere.” Raphaella’s fingers twitched. “But his biology is so unique. I just want to see what his vitals are.”
Nastya rolled her eyes. “Right, sure, but that requires mechanizing him. And while I’m sure he’s very good at wreaking havoc, he’s probably not very fun to have around. Plus, I don’t want to.”
“Like I said. We’re not inviting him to the crew. I just wanna check him out. And then we can dump him somewhere. No one will be any wiser!”
“Well, someone’s gotta do it.” Nastya turned to look at Tim as he spoke up. “He has to come back somehow, and if he’s here, and dead…” He shrugged.
There was quiet for a few seconds as Nastya thought.
“Oh, and also he needs spider legs,” Tim interjected.
Raphaella shrugged. “Not my area of expertise.”
“Hm.” Nastya paused for a moment. “I'm not generally a fan of random augmentation, but spider legs would be fun.” She considered suggesting that they find another member of his species to satisfy Raphaella's curiosity, but now she was kind of into the idea of building spider legs.
“Fine. But you owe me another favor.”
Raphaella nodded enthusiastically, and they got to work.
~~~~
Sand.
There was sand everywhere.
Blasted fucking desert.
Maul wasn’t sure of many things—he knew his name, for starters, but most of his other memories were taking some time to come back. But he was sure that he absolutely hated this planet.
All he could think to do was settle down and attempt to meditate.
As he closed his eyes, and placed his hands on his knees, he took a deep breath, and reached out to the galaxy around him.
Tatooine. Of course, the place where everything began.
He exhaled, and inhaled deeply once more.
Things began to fall into place as his memories came back. The holocron, the Sith temple. The boy—his apprentice—Ezra. And one final confrontation with Kenobi.
He furrowed his brow as that memory came back. The memory of the fight was there…but he didn’t have any memory of his own victory. He didn’t run, he didn’t kill Kenobi…
No. Kenobi finished the fight—and him.
He opened his eyes. So how was it that he was sitting here, now?
Could Kenobi have done something? Brought him back, somehow?
No, that didn’t seem right. He closed his eyes again and inhaled once more.
He shook his head, slightly. It couldn’t be Mother Talzin, not like…before. She was gone. She, Savage…
For hours he sat there, searching.
But try as he might, he could find no answer. There was nothing that his memory—or the Force—could tell him.
There was only one option left to take.
He had little else to lose. So he would test this—whatever it was that brought him back, he would push it to its very limits.
If he was immortal, after all, maybe he didn’t need a Chosen One for vengeance.