//------------------------------// // Torture (TW: Heavy Gore & Torture) // Story: The Dragon and the Force // by FenrisianBrony //------------------------------// Spike watched in horror as a pair of Mandalorians, fully enclosed in their armour, made their way through the vacuum of space towards his immobile body. The pair stopped just beside him, roughly grabbing hold of him and placing a hand on his neck. Spike couldn’t hear what conversation they were having over their helmet communicators, nor could he do anything to stop them as they removed his Lightsabers from his belt, before wrapping their arms around him and dragging him back towards the waiting mouth of their transport. As soon as he passed the threshold of the ship, he was dropped unceremoniously to the floor, the ships gravity taking over as he was released from the Mandalorians grip. Just because he was freezing and unable to move a muscle, didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt, but he couldn’t even groan. He would have preferred to take a cold bath outside in the Crystal Empire than go through this again. “So, he’s alive?” One of the Mandalorians asked, his ornate armour marking him as someone in charge. “His vital signs look that way.” One of the Mandalorians who had brought him in acknowledged. “You alive in there?” The leader asked, kicking Spike in the stomach. Pain erupted throughout his body, and he sought to make any sort of movement, focusing all of his efforts into his right claw. Finally, he managed to move it, suddenly clenching it as the layer of ice over it shattered. Feeling painfully rushed back into his hand, but it was good pain, it let him focus on something other than the freezing cold that was permeating the rest of his body. “What do you know.” The leader said plainly. “Tell the helmsman to set a course for quadrant five-epsilon-niner. Lord Kun wants all captured Jedi broken in and turned.” “Ne…ver.” Spike managed, trying to free his throat up and use the fire within him to heat his own body. “We’ll see.” The Mandalorian chuckled darkly. “Throw him in the brig, and make sure you keep him locked down. I don’t want him thawing out in transit and causing havoc.” “Sir, I know him.” A Mandalorian said, moving forward and looking down at Spike. “You do?” The leader asked. “He was on Coruscant.” The Mandalorian growled. “He killed my fucking brother at the cannons.” “This is the Jedi that went crazy?” The leader asked. “Crazy? He melted him in his armour!” Oh, this was going to suck. “Secure him. We move now.” The leader said. “Lights out.” Snarled the Mandalorian who had lost a brother, before bringing his boot down on Spikes face. *** Spike tried to snarl, to roar, to do anything, but his mouth was sealed, a band of steel wrapped around it to prevent him from making use of his unique abilities. A concern that would not have been aroused had that one Mandalorian not been here. What were the chances? He had been brought in to the facility a little over an hour ago, directly from the ship so he couldn’t possibly figure out what planet he was on, not that knowing would have helped him in anyway. So here he was, strapped to a slab of rock, a Sith acolyte standing over him in a room filled with vicious looking instruments of ‘persuasion’. This was going to suck, but he could hold on. He had to. With an impassive look on his face, the Sith extended his hand, shooting out of bolt of lightning, impacting with Spikes chest. Spike bucked and struggled against the restraints, trying to get away from the pain, but finding no respite. “You have one day with me.” the Sith said, lowering his hand. “One day to cast off the shackles of the Jedi, and embrace Exar Kun as your master. After that, well. Our Mandalorian friends seem to be quite interested in you.” Spike tried to speak, but his mouth was still clamped shut. “Oh, by now I assume you are realising your situation.” He said in a sickly sweet voice, running a hand over Spikes face and making him shudder. “I’ll give you the chance to give me an answer now, or you can do it later. Swear yourself to Kun. Give up the Jedi lies.” Straining against his restraints, Spike tried to grab hold of the Sith, a soft growl escaping his lips and causing the Sith to take a step back. “I’ll take that as a no.” The Sith said, before his hand came up again, the lightning erupting out of it again. Spike screamed. *** “Last chance.” The Sith snarled, ripping away the muzzle from around Spikes mouth and letting it fall to the floor. “Leave the Jedi. Join us.” Spike panted heavily, slumping against his restraints. “Go. To hell.” He moaned softly. “Oh no, my dear Jedi. Hell is where you’re going.” The Sith smiled, before roughly shoving the muzzle back onto Spikes face and walking out of the room, passing a Mandalorian in the corridor. “He’s all yours. You want to break him, fine. He’ll never make a Sith anyway.” “You made my day.” The Mandalorian said, removing his helmet as he walked into the room, sealing the door behind him. “Looks like it’s just you and me now.” The Mandalorians face was green, tapering off into a point that matched the helmet that he set down on a side table, before reaching up and undoing a clasp on his shoulder, removing his left pauldren, repeating the process until he stood in front of Spike bare chested. “No point getting your blood on my armour. It would dishonour my family.” He snarled, before picking up a metal cudgel, a savage gleam in his eye. “You’re not the first Jedi I’ve done this to, maybe you’ll last longer than him though.” “Fuck you, and fuck your armour.” Spike growled. The Mandalorian lashed out with a cudgel, drawing blood as he opened a gash just above Spike left eye, the red liquid obscuring Spikes view slightly. *** Three Days Later *** Spike screamed as he came back to his body, fire roaring from his crotch to his ribcage, the Mandalorian walking away, tossing the needle he had just jammed into Spike neck aside. Spike was strapped to a horizontal table, his spread eagle arms straining to break the restraints that held him down. Overhead, a spider-like droid hovered over his body, its many arms holding parts of him down as a pair of heavy duty shears slowly opening his chest to the world, exposing the muscle below, and causing Spike to let out a muffled scream with every cut. The Mandalorian walked over, ripping the muzzle from his mouth and allowing his scream to sound properly, echoing around the room. “You fucker.” Spike hissed, clenching his jaw shut as spit and blood from his punctured lips rolled down his chin. “Again.” The Mandalorian growled, stopping the droid and placing a finger beneath Spikes skin. “Fuck you!” Spike screamed. “Say that to my brother!” He shouted, grabbing hold of something within Spike. Spike wanted to scream, he really did, the pain more intense than anything he had experienced to date, but as he opened his mouth, nothing came out, the bile that was rising in his throat stopping any sound from escaping. Tears rolled down his face, as he turned to face the Mandalorian, coughing as he forced the sick back down his throat. “Wha…you…want?” he sobbed. “I want to see you beg. I want to see you suffer. But most of all, I want to see you burn for what you did.” The man growled. “But not before you beg for me to kill you. When you see death as a kindness, when I’ve drawn as much suffering from you as I can, then you’ll die.” The Mandalorian dug his hand in deeper, and this time, Spike did scream, power slipping into his voice and causing the Mandalorian to stagger backwards, tripping over one of the tables in the room. Ripping his hands up from table, Spike turned to his ankle restraints, the pain making the edges of his vision turn black as he sought to concentrate enough to undo them, flopping to the floor with a wet slap. Biting his lip to keep himself from screaming again, Spike reached out for the Mandalorians weapon, before discovering something truly disturbing. He could either hold the gun, or he could hold his own guts in, and at the moment, he wasn’t doing the latter. A horrible slithering wetness slipped out of Spike, leaving an empty nothingness behind in a sensation that made Spike consider putting a blaster bolt through his head. Dropping the pistol, Spike collapsed back to the ground, lying in a pool of his own blood and vomit, mixed with another liquid which he didn't want to think about. “Pathetic.” The Mandalorian growled, his boots coming into Spikes vision. “Kill…me.” Spike pleaded. “We’ve only just begun.” *** How long had he been here? A week? Two? A month? Whatever it was, he had lost interest in it, focusing only on the pain that was the only constant in his new life. He hadn’t seen another soul save for the Mandalorian since the Sith warrior had left, and he hadn’t felt anything other than pain since the battle. His body was covered with blood, the scars that covered him still oozing with the exception of the one on his stomach, which had been crudely sealed by fire. Oddly, that had been the least painful experience so far. “How is our little patient today?” the Mandalorian asked. “Fuck you.” Spike rasped, barely above a whisper. No tears formed in his eyes this time, his body not allowing itself to waste what little water it had. The muzzle had long since been taken off, he required concentration for flames, something he couldn’t do in his state. “Speak up. I can’t hear you over the blood you’ve swallowed.” He laughed, getting closer to Spike. Fixing his eyes on his tormenter, Spike summoned what little strength he had and spat. It was pathetic, most of the blood not even crossing the tiny gap to his face, but enough landed on target to get his point across. Growling, the Mandalorian moved back, wiping the blood away with a hand, before lashing out, sending pain lancing through Spikes face. “Now that was rude. The first Jedi at least had some manners.” He muttered, flicking the last bit of blood from his face. “I suppose I’m going to have to teach you a lesson so you can better follow in his footsteps.” He paused for a second as if in thought, before cracking his knuckles. “Nah, I’m just going to keep hitting you.” Spike grunted as the blows rained down on him, but compared to what the Mandalorian had been doing recently, this was a cake walk. Eventually, the man stopped beating Spike, looking around as Spike slumped in his restraints, sinking closer to the ground as he prepared himself for what was to come. “Now,” he asked, picking up a massive knife. “I’m thinking we do something a little different today. Instead of just hurting you, I think I should do something more permanent. What do you think? Should I start with the wing, or your tail?” “Fuck you.” Spike coughed through the blood. “Maybe your tongue?” He growled, before grabbing Spikes jaw and trying to force it open. Suddenly, the room was rocked by a muffled crashing sound, drawing the Mandalorians attention away from Spike and towards the door. Putting the knife down on the table, he released Spike jaws. “I’m just going to pop out for a minute? You don’t mind do you? Good. Now don’t go anywhere.” He laughed as he walked out the room, closing the door behind him. Spike panted heavily, thanking everything that he had earned some sort of respite finally, even if it was just for a moment. In the distance, Spike heard another crashing boom sound, this one louder than the first, knocking loose some dust from the ceiling. Shakily, he looked up as another blast, this one much closer, shook the room dislodging a chunk of rock from the stone ceiling and sending it crashing down on to Spikes right arm. The pain barely registered as they heavy piece of masonry smashed apart his restraint, and for a moment, neither did the implications, Spike mind already addled from the unending torture. Slowly however, the realisation dawned on him that for the first time since he had spilled his own guts on the floor, he was free from his restraint, and this time, he didn’t have a wound that would make it impossible to do anything. Reaching across with a shaking claw, Spike slowly undid his other arm clasp, allowing himself to fall forward, hitting the ground and sighing with contentment. One down, two to go. It took Spike almost ten minutes to undo the restraints around his ankles, but he did it, shakily getting to his knees as he crawled forward, his eyes fixed on the contents of the table in front of him. Even though he was in better shape than last time, Spike knew that escaping while he was struggling to stand up would be next to impossible, and he wanted to take full advantage of this opportunity, whatever it was. Finally reaching the table, Spike wasted no time in grabbing hold of a bunch of the injectors that rested upon it. Before, the Mandalorian had been using them to keep him awake for as long as possible in sessions to make sure he felt everything, but now, they would help him escape. Grasping as many as he could in one claw, Spike shoved them into a vein on his neck, careful to avoid hitting his scales and shuddering as the needles dispensed their contents directly into his bloodstream. Instantly, Spike could feel the stimulants working, arching his back as his mouth opened in a silent scream. In an instant he was on his feet, his pupils shrinking to the size of pinpricks as he staggered forward, steadying himself on a table, and picking up a large serrated knife. Now he was armed and back on his feet. For once, things seemed to be looking up. Well, up in the way he was no longer being tortured by a vengeful brother, he was still on an unknown planet, surrounded by enemies and only keeping going thanks to an ungodly amount of stimulants, but he had to keep thinking of the positives. Sliding the door open, Spike looked on at the carnage of the corridor beyond. Not that he knew what the corridor looked like before, but he doubt that whoever designed this place went for the rubble strewn look. Picking his way over a large pile of fallen masonry, Spike found a door that looked much larger than the one he had just come through, the metal being thicker and then twin locks clearly holding back something on the other side. Not knowing what was on the other side, but knowing that to stay inside with that Mandalorian and whoever else was on this base was a death trap, Spike reached for the door, trying to focus to use the force, but still finding himself unable to do so, this time because of the stimulants coursing through him, not the pain. Grunting, Spike instead fastened his jaws around the metal locks, tightening his teeth and hauling back. The metal initially resisted, but his teeth quickly sank in and gave him a better purchase on the lock as he slowly ripped it from its mooring, spitting it out and digging his claws into the door itself. Struggling, he slowly hauled the door open, getting his first glimpse of the outside. The planet was hot, inhospitably so, lava flowing in streams across the red rock of the planet and contrasting with the much darker red sky, small particles of ash floating down and covering the inside of the hall and Spike himself in a few seconds. Taking a step outside, Spike looked back at the facility, casting his eyes over the hell hole that had been the place of his suffering. Snarling, a thought crossed his mind, one that he had suppressed since it had first entered his head after his near dissection. Now that he was free and able to escape though, that thought came back with a vengeance. Maybe it was the stims he had taken, maybe it was the sheer length of time that he had been here, or maybe it was just the fact that he was a Dragon, but he no longer had the strength to resist the urge. Shutting his eyes, Spike ran through his new plan, before his eyelids snapped open, his eyes yellowing as he turned and set off inside in search of the Mandalorian. Clenching the knife in his left hand, Spike picked up a large piece of broken metal, testing the weight, before deciding that it would be suitable for his purpose. Sprinting forward, Spike worked through the pain as it surged through him, throwing his shoulder into a door, the metal buckling as he smashed through it, revealing a squad of Mandalorians in the process of donning their helmets and checking their weapons. There were four of in total. Spike almost felt sorry for them. Almost. Letting out a roar, Spike sprinted forward, the stims boosting his speed and strength to levels he had previously thought only achievable with the force, and now he was using both, should have been impossible. He liked it. It felt, good. A minute later, Spike was alone in the room, crouching over the final corpse as he removed the knife blade from underneath the helmet it was lodged in, picking the metal pole up again and wiping the blood off it, not that he really cared, looking down at his own blood covered form. God if the others could see him now. Growling Spike made his way forward. He didn’t know where to go, but for some reason, he felt like something was guiding him to his prey. He knew he could find him, but not as a Jedi. He would have to give in to the animal to do that. Snarling, Spike dropped to all fours and breathed in deeply, taking in the smells of the room. His nose was instantly filled with the scent that had become his whole world in the past weeks, it was easy to follow it. Bounding forward, the animal followed the trail, closing in on his prey with the certainty that only a hunter could have. Nothing else mattered, only the prize. Only the prey. Quickly, Spike made his way through the complex, the animalistic side of him directing him around enemies, allowing him to avoid more squads as he closed on the scent, the smell getting stronger and stronger until it finally reached a crux around a large door to what Spike assumed was a command centre. He advanced towards the doors, the knife and pole long since forgotten. Animals didn’t use tools, they got by with their own claws, and right now, Spike relished that as a prospect. He was still having trouble focusing enough to use the force or breathe fire, but he was strong enough to take on one warrior, even if it was only because of stims. The crash after this would be hell. Throwing the doors open, Spike roared as he dived forward, catching the Mandalorian off guard as he barrelled into him, knocking him to the floor and skidding to a halt at the far end of the room. To his credit, the Mandalorian was quick to recover, leaping to his feet as he slipped from Spikes grip and drawing a short sword from his back. “So it all comes down to this eh?” He asked, his helmeted gaze fixed on Spike as the pair circled each other, Spike back on all fours. Spike didn’t reply, instead hissing as his tongue tasted the air. “So, the mighty Jedi, reduced to an animal.” The Mandalorian sneered. “Come on boy, let’s play.” Roaring Spike jumped forward, lashing out with a wild attack, the Mandalorian easily dodging and following up with a strike of his own. One thing Spike had learnt in the weeks of torture was that unless the attack was really heavy, not much could get through the scales on his back, and now, he used that to his advantage. Spinning as the blow came in, Spike allowed the sword to impact harmlessly on his back, before lashing out with a kick that cracked armour and sent the Mandalorian flying. Not giving up, Spike jumped into the air before bringing a foot down, narrowly missing the Mandalorian as he rolled out of the way, drawing a pistol and losing a shot at Spike, the energy assisted projectile ripping into Spikes shoulder and pitching the dragon from his feet. Spinning, Spike landed on three paws, working through the pain before springing forward again, narrowly avoiding another shot before he was on the Mandalorian, lashing out and causing the man to dodge. In response, the Mandalorian stuck his pistol out, attempting to get a point blank head shot. As it turned out, that was just the opening Spike needed. Snarling, Spike avoided the shot, before clamping his jaw over the man’s wrist, covering the gun completely and biting down, hard. The Mandalorian screamed as he staggered back, his wrist pumping blood as the severed hand was spat back at him, smearing across his helmet as Spike advanced upon the wounded warrior. “Go on.” He snarled, holding the stump on his arm with one hand, staring up at Spike defiantly. “Kill me like you killed the others. You’re not even a Jedi, you’re just an animal, and one day you’ll be put down like one.” Spikes lips twisted into a grimace as he shut the words out. All he needed to know was that he had won, and his prize was now in his claws. An explosion rocked the room, opening a view to the outside world and collapsing the ceiling, separating Spike from the Mandalorian. Spike was tossed aside like a rag doll, but quickly recovered, letting out a feral howl as he stared upwards. He would kill those who came between him and his prey, he would hunt them to the ends of the universe. He would… His eyes fell upon the ships that were hovering over the base, and his rage faded, his eyes fading as well until they turned green again. Shaking his head, Spike looked up at the Hammerhead Cruisers as they descended towards the planet, his head clearing enough for him to see the Republic symbols, and to realise that the stims were wearing off, the pain returning with a vengeance. Staggering backwards, Spike broke into a run, charging back towards the door to the outside world. Whoever was coming probably didn’t know he was in here, and were going to be under orders to shoot anything that moved, and Spike didn’t want to take the chance that they might not recognise him. Reaching the door, Spike barrelled through it, dropping to all fours as he powered away from the base, the loose rock and ash squeezing between his claws as he ran. Eventually, Spike skidded to a halt, standing atop a mesa as he looked over the base, the ships now disgorging transports as Republic troops spilled towards the hellish place, hopefully to purge it from the face of the galaxy. Stumbling, Spike allowed himself to collapse to the floor. The stims he had taken were fading fast, and now he would have to not only confront the pain he had experienced before, but also struggle as his system purged the final parts of the drug. This was going to be hard, but it was a welcome challenge. As long as the republic won that is. Spike watched for what seemed like an eternity as Republic forces secured the base, his eyes even settling on a Jedi, but he was too far away to make out anything. Eventually, the firefights that had broken tapered out, before stopping completely. Due to the fact that he could still see Republic forces, he had to hope they had won. Standing up to his fullest height, struggling through the returning pain, Spike signalled the only way he knew how. Raising his head, he let out a roar, pouring the last of his reserves into the sound before falling back to the ground. Soldiers were already shouting and pointing at his vantage point, and he could make out the Jedi, no, pair of Jedi running towards him. As his eyes settled on the new comer, his heart threatened to leap from his chest, and he rose to his feet, making sure he hadn’t made a mistake. “SPIKE!” Tarhal yelled, his voice traveling the distance easily. Spike smiled as his friend ran towards him, his Lightsaber ignited, Norik hot on his Padawans heels. The bionic Jedi also looked worried, brandishing his Lightsaber as if he was ready for a fight. Why were they so worried? It was just him. Spike suddenly wheeled around, a second to late, as a fist slammed into his face, knocking him to the floor. As he groaned, he felt a hand grab hold of him, and he found himself hauled upwards to face the ruined helmet of the Mandalorian torturer. His armour was useless, and as Spike watched, he tore his helmet off, dropping it to the floor as he turned Spike back towards the two Jedi, an arm wrapping around Spikes neck as he dragged him back towards the edge of the plateau. “Not another step.” He snarled as Tarhal and Norik jumped onto the other end of the rocky outcrop. “Let him go.” Tarhal ordered. “Why?” The Mandalorian growled back, apparently understanding Shyriiwook. “He is mine.” “Let him go!” Norik shouted, taking a step forward. “One more step and I take one backwards.” The Mandalorian threatened. “A one way trip into the pool below us. If I die, he’s coming with me. We can all burn together, him, me and my brother, nothing but burnt corpses in the afterlife.” “We can work this out.” Tarhal pleaded, his eyes fixing on Spike. “No we can’t.” the Mandalorian growled. “You’re right. We can’t.” Spike snarled, before pushing backwards, sending both himself and the Mandalorian toppling backwards. Spike managed to get in a single blow on the Mandalorian, raking his claws across his face before the pair hit the pool of lava at the bottom, sinking beneath the molten surface. “SPIKE!” Tarhal bellowed, skidding to the edge of the mesa and looking at the ripples that spread across its surface, only to be hauled back by Norik. “Careful!” He admonished. “I can save him!” Tarhal yelled back, but he didn’t believe it himself. Tears formed in his eyes as he looked back over the edge at the pool of lava. “I’m sorry Tarhal. I know you two were close.” Norik said, looking down as well. The surface rippled. “Master? Did you see that?” Tarhal asked, blinking away the few tears that had formed as he got back to his feet. “No…” Norik said in disbelief as the ripples continued. Both Jedi jumped down, landing next to the lava and watching as the replies increased in frequency. Suddenly, a hand burst from beneath the surface, clutching at the air weakly, before flopping onto the shore. Instantly, Tarhal was by it, grabbing hold of it before recoiling from the intense heat of the lava that was clinging to the claw. “Brace yourself for the worst.” Norik grunted, but had already grabbed hold of the claw, his bionics standing up to the heat as he dragged Spike out of the lava. Spike was unconscious, barely breathing, but he was alive, more than could be said of the Mandalorian who had fallen with him. With a grunt, Norik hoisted Spike onto his shoulders, the old man looking absurd as the larger creature swamped him. “Go back to the base, finish the sweep.” Norik ordered, before setting off at a run back towards the transports. Tarhal wanted to argue and go with his friend, but complied with the order all the same, setting off at a run as he made his way back towards the troops sweeping the base. It didn’t take him long, and soon he was making his way inside, flanked by a squad of soldiers in hazardous environment gear. They passed through a small access door on the side of the base, and Tarhal knelt down to inspect the lock. The Republic forces hadn’t come in this way, nor had they exited here, and yet the door looked as if it had been ripped open, one of the locks bearing the distinct marks of teeth. Pushing the though from his mind, Tarhal continued through the corridor, picking his way over a pile of rubble as well as several corpses of Mandalorians, none of whom bore the mark of being killed by blasters. Eventually, Tarhal came to a small room at the end of a long corridor and made his way inside. The room was small, every surface being devoted to holding knives and other instruments of torture. In the far corner was a large table, held vertically by a droid arm. Walking over to it, Tarhal inspected the restraints, specifically the smashed apart right wrist. Whatever had been here had broken out on their own, but when he gave a tug on the intact retrains, he found that there wasn’t even so much as an inch of give in them. Not much was stronger than a Wookie. “Tarhal sir.” A soldier called from the door, interrupting Tarhal’s train of thought. “I think you should see this.” Tarhal nodded, following the soldier through the base to what was left of the command room. The room had been hit badly by one of the Republic shots from orbit, half of it being sealed off from the other, but somehow, the computers around the edge had survived remarkably well. “What?” Tarhal asked, the soldiers he had with him not needing a translation. “We managed to get some security footage. Most of its fairly normal, but then we got this.” The soldier said, before pressing a button and bringing a hologram to life. As Tarhal watched, a group of Mandalorians appeared, most still getting their helmets on and getting their weapons together. “What am I looking at?” Tarhal asked. “This.” The image was suddenly distorted as a shape crashed into the room, the cameras struggling to keep up with the speed of the thing now moving around the room, a bloody knife in one hand and a large pole in the other. In short order, the Mandalorians were all dead, accounting for the corpses he had passed earlier. Now that the creature had stopped moving so quickly, the cameras could make out the remaining figure, although it didn't take a genius to figure out who it had been. “Spike.” Tarhal muttered softly, looking at his friend. “There’s more. This clip is from in here.” The soldier said, pressing another button and changing the image. Now there was only one Mandalorian, and as Tarhal watched, the form of Spike crashed into him, sending him to the floor. The pair soon began to fight in earnest, Spikes stance instantly standing out to Tarhal. The dragon was behaving like an animal, a feral beast toying with its prey. He realised that what he was watching wasn’t forced, this was a premeditated revenge kill, plain and simple. “Wait outside please.” Tarhal ordered. “Sir?” The soldier asked. “You never saw this, understand.” Tarhal growled. “Sir.” The soldier saluted, before walking out of the room. “What happened here Spike?” Tarhal breathed softly, before ejecting the memory core of the security system. The little square glowed brightly, indicating that it had memory stored on it. These cubes weren’t easy to deal with, you couldn’t just delete one entry, it had to be everything or nothing. The council would want to see this, as would Norik, the data inside possibly containing valuable information on Exar Kuns battle plans. Unfortunately, it also held some very sensitive information on his friend, information that if allowed to come to light could see Spike expelled from the order, possibly even detained for questioning. Spike would already have to defend his choice to push backwards rather than forwards on the mesa, but that could at least be understandable as self-defense or an accident, this though, this was cold murder, revenge as plain as day. Could he allow this to come to light? “Sir? One of the men has something for you.” The soldier said, poking his head back through the door as another soldier walked in, bearing two objects that Tarhal instantly recognised. “Well done.” Tarhal nodded, taking Spikes Lightsabers from the soldier and attacking them to his own belt. “Now, please wait outside. There’s something I have to do.” “Master Norik sends his regards and says hurry.” The soldier nodded, before disappearing again. As Tarhal was left alone, he made his decision, dropping the cube to the floor. “Move it out people!” He roared, turning back towards the doo, making sure to plant his foot on the memory core as he turned, the delicate piece of technology shattering under foot as he left the room.