Chapter Text
On the sprawling slum that is Nar Shaddaa, a red skinned Twi'lek stood on the boarding ramp of her mistress's shuttle with a vibroblade jutting from her back.
She looked into her mistress's wicked smile as the shuttle slowly lifted into the air and felt fear rising in the back of her mind as she realized she had just been impaled. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but her mistress held her in an iron grip. The Twi’lek tried to speak, but all that escaped her lips was a whimper.
"Don't worry, my apprentice," the pale, dark eyed woman said, as she slowly retrieved her vibroblade from her pupil's body, "I don't think I cut anything vital." The red-skinned woman sank to her knees, clutching at her teacher's robes, begging with her eyes. However, her mistress simply pushed her off the shuttle with one swift kick.
As the Twi'lek fell, bleeding, onto the street below, she barely managed to cushion her fall with the force. Even then, she landed badly. She felt, and then heard, her arm snap, along with two or three ribs, but she wasn't sure. The pale faced woman called out to her, "This is your final test, my young apprentice; Find me, and your training shall be complete." And with that, the shuttle's ramp closed, and she flew away, leaving her pupil in the hands of the lowest scum of the galaxy.
However, broken and bleeding as she was, the Twi'lek woman refused to admit defeat. She was no stranger to pain. Her training had been brutal and complete, and her mistress had not spared the lash. Her fury at this betrayal fueled her as she rose, shaky, to her feet. She was cloaked in darkness, lost in a secluded part of the refugee quarter, but she knew the wolves would soon be closing in, so she set to mending her broken arm.
She steeled herself, using the force to find the break, and then, biting her lip so hard it bled, she set the bone. White hot pain seared through her arm, it was like being stabbed all over again as she fought to remain conscious. She won, and let out a scream of pure agony.
She immediately knew that indulging in that act of self-indulgence was a mistake. She had to move, immediately. She was using the Force to heal her wounds, but there was only so much she could do without medical attention and the passage of time. Instead, she focused on her pain, used it as an anchor to keep her in the here and now, to keep herself from slipping into unconsciousness.
To be reduced to this, after years of servitude, her anger flared, even as her wounds throbbed and bled. Dropped in the gutter like a rat. Stranded in this trash-strewn alleyway like a common beggar. She let her anger fuel her thoughts and movements. The dregs of Nar Shaddaa, even in the refugee quarter, could smell weakness, so she pulled her cloak tight around herself, as well as she could with her broken arm, and clutched at her wound. She stood up straight, and forced a neutral expression on her face as she stalked into the docking hub.
However, a woman, especially a red, Lethan Twi’lek, walking on her own in the refugee quarter is considered easy prey by many. Soon enough, she knew she was being shadowed by a group with ill intent.
A large Trandoshan with three parallel scars across it’s cheek, and a blaster pistol too small for his hands, walked out of an adjacent alley and blocked her path. At the same time, the two human men following her drew their own implements of violence and closed in on her.
“What’sssss a pretty little tthhhing like you doing in a dark and dangeroussss placccce like thissss, hm?”
She shot the Trandoshan a look of seething hatred, but her voice was even, “Let. Me. Pass.”
The Trandoshan made a dry, rasping sound, she thought it must be laughing, and the excitement she felt at the violence that would no doubt follow dulled the pain of her injuries as her body flooded with adrenaline. “You don’t ssssseem to be in any possssition to make demandssss, here, ssssweet-hurk!”
In a flash of red light, the Trandoshan’s head was separated from his shoulder, falling with a wet thunk before the rest of his body followed, collapsing into a heap. The two men behind her were stunned, one died where he stood, but the other managed to turn around and run before she lifted him with the force. She watched with twisted amusement as the life was strangled out of him and his kicking slowed and eventually stopped. She crushed his neck with a loud wet crunch to make sure he was dead, and let his corpse fall to the street.
She continued on, but felt her strength waning. She chided herself for being indulgent again, but they had blocked her path. Still, she could have been faster about killing that last one. She forced her body to continue moving.
She slumped against the exit that led out to a series of private docking platforms, and took a shuddering breath. She looked down at her hand, noting the blood slowly seeping through her fingers, and shook her head to clear her vision. She refused to die on this festering wound of a planet.
She walked past three empty docking platforms before she found one with a ship on it. By that point her body was nearing it's breaking point. It looked to be a tramp freighter, Dynamic-Class. No doubt fast enough to catch her mistress’ ship and then some. It appeared that the owner was on the landing platform, discussing a shipment of what appeared to be bacta with someone who must have been a doctor from one of the refugee hab blocks.
She took a another breath and drew on the force, cloaking herself in shadow. She knew she only had a few moments to get aboard and get the ship moving. She hurried past the trader and the doctor, the force muffling her steps, and then crept up the boarding ramp, in case there were any crew waiting inside.
Once aboard, she padded silently down one corridor into the ship's common room, nearly colliding with a droid. She registered that it seemed to have been a spa attendant protocol droid at one point, but it appeared to have been upgraded to be combat capable. It was irrelevant. She pulled on the force and jabbed her palm at the droid's power core, causing it to overload and short circuit the droid's processor.
She caught the droid as it fell, nearly screaming out in pain as the weight of the droid contorted her wounds and threatened to break her other arm; but she held it in, and let the droid down easy, barely causing a clatter as it met with the deck plating.
She then made for the cockpit, and sat down in the pilot's chair. Her vision started to blur as she fumbled with the controls, searching for the switches and buttons that would initiate takeoff. She finally felt the ship lurch through the deck plating beneath her as it lifted into the air when she heard a voice behind her.
"What the hell are you doing on my ship!?"