Private 2300

[Kaelon Virex]

Kael's grin faltered as she spoke, her laughter still echoing faintly between them. For a moment, he wanted to ride that sound forever — that warmth, that chaos that only she could summon. But when she said don't pretend nothing's happening, something inside him stiffened. He could feel her eyes searching his face, trying to dig beneath the charm, the confidence, the shields he'd mastered long before she'd ever touched his life.


He took a slow breath, fingers tracing idle circles against her wrist before he finally met her gaze. The humor was gone now. What remained was raw, unguarded honesty.


"You're right," he said quietly. "I'm not sleeping easy. Haven't been since the last run-in with Baird."

"Truth is," he continued, voice rougher now, "I'm scared. More than I'd ever admit out loud. Because if Baird gets to me… it's not just about dying. It's about him erasing who I am. Everything I built, every version of me I've ever tried to be—gone. He's the kind of man who kills you twice: once in the body, once in memory."

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes shadowed by the dim cabin light. "And Ecks…" He shook his head, a low exhale escaping him. "He's worse. Baird plays with muscle and menace. Ecks plays the long game. Cold. Calculating. He doesn't need to hit hard—he just waits until you destroy yourself."

Kael turned back toward her, the faintest smirk flickering as if to soften the blow. "So yeah," he murmured, "we're up against two bastards who don't miss. Baird and Ecks—different weapons, same result."

Then, softer still: "But that doesn't mean I'm backing off. I've got skin in this now."

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Scherezade wasn't sure she understood. Well no, that wasn't true. She understood that something was amiss, and that for some reason Kael was afraid of what'd happen if either of the two shmucks won. What she didn't understand was the killing twice part. Memory didn't work the way she thought he was meaning, but she also didn't want to interject with silly comments while he was opening up about it.

So she remained quiet, close to Kaelon Virex , close enough that he could still feel the heat from her skin. She wasn't planning on leaving or mocking him for any of it.

When he finished speaking, she pulled him back into the bed, entangling their limbs and the sheets. It was a movement of intimacy and closeness, just wanting to feel the warmth of his body, the echo of his beating heart.

"You've got me in this," she smiled when she finally stopped just inhaling him with glee, "I don't think you.. Or they, really understand what that means just yet. But you will, once we're done with those two smucks."

 

[Kaelon Virex]

Kael nodded in quiet agreement, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly as her words settled into him — not just comfort, but conviction. You've got me in this. The warmth of it lingered longer than he expected, pulling him from the cold edges of that nightmare and back into the soft rhythm of the Glitterdust's hum.

Outside the viewport, the stars were fading into streaks of green and blue as the freighter cut through the upper atmosphere of Endor. Clouds swirled below like silver cotton, dense and alive, masking the thick forest floor beneath. The distant light of the moon's twin suns filtered through the haze in soft, amber beams that glimmered against the ship's hull.

Kael exhaled slowly, fingers drumming against the control panel. "Endor," he murmured, eyes narrowing as the terrain resolved on the screen — endless woodland, fractured by mist and shadows. "Peaceful from orbit. Too peaceful."

He stood, pulling on his jacket as the freighter began to ease into a low hover pattern. The sensors showed no nearby settlements, no broadcast signals. Just static. Yet something… pulsed beneath it.

"Look here," Kael said, gesturing toward the holo-map flickering above the console. The topography shimmered in greens and golds, with faint geometric indentations scattered across a valley ridge. "Those patterns—see the way they loop? That's not natural erosion. It's deliberate. Carved into the treeline."

He frowned, tapping to zoom in. "Territory markers, maybe. Or a route. If Ecks is running a bloodsport down there, he's got to have an entry network. Hidden trails, drop points for the competitors. This could be his way of guiding the ones invited—or the ones being hunted."

Turning toward her, Kael's expression was equal parts wary and determined. "Once we touch down, we'll keep low. Find one of those carvings, see where it leads. Ecks doesn't host anything without a stage."

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Endor too peaceful? Scherezade, clad in her armor and usual array of weapons, walked into the cockpit, leaning lightly against Kaelon Virex 's back of the shoulder, looking out through the viewport. She had visited the planet numerous times in the past, but she'd hardly call any of those visits peaceful. When she was there, it meant battle or war was ensuing. This time would be no different.

She paused. Wait. Been there so many times? No, that wasn't right… She'd never… The Sithling cursed. It had been a long time since her mind couldn't tell apart a memory that belonged to her, and one that had belonged to grandmother that she'd merely been given access to.

She listened quietly to Kael's explanation, knowing that she would not have noticed those marks on her own unless they'd been drenched in blood. Besides. This was Endor. She rarely took care to note a lot of things there because usually all the things there wanted to just eat her, and she had to show them she was a worse predator. It was a simple life, really.

"Once we touch down, I stay low," she corrected him. They had agreed. "You can't come out of the ship until you're a thousand percent sure you can do it."

After all, Eck's had demanded only her presence. He had not even mentioned Kael. But since Ecks had managed to infiltrate her systems, she had no doubt he knew of Kael's presence, and would more than likely be expecting her handsome devil to try to pull a few stunts of his own.

She glanced again at the planet, and chewed her lip a moment.

"Last time I was here, I befriended some Wisties," she grinned, "I wonder if they're anywhere around here."

Again she paused. Nope, that was her grandmother's too. But now, she did wonder if she could find some other wisties to make friends with to assist in the fight against the butthole.

And with that, she leaned down to plant a warm kiss on Kael's cheek, "I'm off to kill the guy. Please make sure and be alive and in one piece when I return," and with that, she spun around, and left the cockpit, exiting the ship a handful of moments later.

 

[Ecks]

Clouds thickened as she left the Giggledust, folding the sky into a low, leaden lid that swallowed the sun's edge. The world smelled of wet loam and something metallic—rain not yet fallen but promised—and each breath tasted of moss and old things. A wind moved through the trees like a living thing, carrying with it the soft creak of branches and the distant, constant whisper of the forest itself.

The clearing they'd touched down in was a bruise of mud and flattened ferns. Footprints—too many to be casual—mired in the soft ground and led toward a narrow gorge where the trees bent inward and the shadows pooled. Lanterns hung on the lower boughs, their glass panes clouded by salt-spray and time, little islands of dull light in the dim. Beyond them, the path narrowed into a throat of rock and root.

From that throat, a radio voice crackled—tinny and half-swallowed by distance—stitching a nervous rhythm into the quiet. The broadcast sounded like a checkpoint call sign: interval pings, clipped replies, the practical chatter of men (and women) on duty. It gave the place the air of something patient and practiced, like an animal that'd learned how to lie in wait and make it look polite.

Around the cave entrance itself someone had set a strange, almost ceremonial perimeter: tiki-style torches—workmanlike scaffolds rather than festive ornaments—flickered in the damp air, their flames guttering with a scent of resin and old oil. The torches lit the carved rock face in an uneven, twitching glow, casting the black shapes of leaves like teeth against the stone.

A sentry stood sentinel beneath that light. He was an imposing silhouette: broad-shouldered, stance casual but ready. Across his chest, stitched into the dark fabric of his armor, a patch read 001 in stark white numerals. At his hip hung a standard-issue blaster, muzzle polished and thumb-worn from practice; hands never far from its grip. The most unnerving thing was his mask—black with a deep crimson stain that caught the torchlight and made the angles seem alive—an echo of the voidstone facets Scherezade had seen before, only rougher, more utilitarian. It hid expression entirely, but it didn't have to; posture and stillness said enough.

He watched the tree line with a patience that bordered on predatory, listening as the radio crackled and replying in short, confidential phrases. The torchlight painted him in fits and starts, making the red of his mask pulse like a slow heartbeat. For anyone who knew the language of menace, the combination of carved markers, prepared lights, and an armored figure bearing the number 001 was less an accident and more a deliberate statement: the path was mapped, the thresholds guarded, and someone—some ones—had thought through how to shepherd visitors straight to where they wanted them.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Scherezade remained quiet as she marched off her ship. The mud beneath her boots made all the squishy sounds she'd expected it to, and she didn't even think to check the many footprints that had passed through it. Why bother? She could scent the heart beats and blood flowing. There were better ways to discover who was there and with a bit of luck, what they wanted.

The tiki torches were a weird touch. Her glowing gaze glanced around, trying to find hidden or not-so-hidden cameras, almost as though she was being pranked into some really bad holoreality show. But alas, her luck wouldn't stretch that far. If there were any of those in the vicinity, she couldn't see them.

And there was… That person, standing by the entrance to the cave that she needed to get to. What had the instructions been again? Oh right. Get there for further instructions. The Sithling glanced at the time. Ten seconds 2300.

"Well?" she asked, holding her chin up in defiance at the masked man ( Ecks ). She hated that mask. Once she was done with the place, she was going to burn it. "Are you really going to make me wait the whole ten… I mean, seven seconds left?"

 

[Ecks]

The man didn't move to salute. He only tilted his head, a single, deliberate gesture that read like the sharpening of a blade.

"Scherezade deWinter," he said, voice flattened and run through a low vocoder so the syllables came out like metal. No welcome. No flourish. Just an account logged and closed. He stepped aside with the measured economy of someone who'd opened this door a thousand times and never once been surprised by what waited inside.

"Follow," he said, and his gloved hand flicked toward the dark throat of the cave.

The passage closed around her. The torchlight winked off wet stone as she moved beneath the arch; the air grew cooler, damp, and smelled faintly of old iron and smoke. The guard walked with the unhurried patience of a hunter guiding prey along a trail he'd chosen himself—never too close, never too far, a constant, watchful presence at her shoulder. The carvings on the trees gave way to scratch-marks on the tunnel walls, symbols repeated in a rhythm as deliberate as footsteps.

They threaded past low stalactites and puddles that reflected the torch flames like small, nervous suns. At one point he paused, reached up, and brushed a gloved fingertip over a rune burned into the stone—his touch was a check, a key—and the rune answered with a faint mechanical click deeper in the rock.

After what felt like a long breath, the tunnel opened.

Light spilled into a cavern the size of a small amphitheater. Tiered ledges carved into basalt rose like teeth around a sunken central floor. Shafts of torchlight swung lazily across the faces of the spectators — silhouettes clustered in the gloom, faces half-hidden by hoods and masks. Somewhere farther back, the metallic clink of chains or cages whispered. The scent of wet earth was laced now with iron and something salt-bright that made her tongue tighten.

The guard stopped at the lip of the pit and glanced at her with the same clinical steadiness. The number 001 on his chest caught the torchlight and flashed white.

"You are to proceed to the staging area," he said, precise. "Scanner will confirm your identity there. Do not deviate from the path. All questions will be answered in sequence."

He stepped down a narrow ramp that led to a side entrance

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Ecks

---

Of course he knew her name. Whoever was behind it had known it when they'd hacked into her ship, so there was no reason to assume it would not be used here. The vocal altering was a bit much though, if you asked her. Not that anyone did. All that came was a metallic order, and off they were, she following him.

Some might have thought the cave scary, or a prelude to something darker to come. Scherezade saw no reason to be afraid. Psychological tricks worked when you didn't know you were being tricked. Here, she could appreciate some of the architecture, built specifically to put fear into people. Maybe it would have been smarter to be at least somewhat afraid, but she had too much on her mind.

Like how had the motherkrakkers hacked her ship. Or was Kael safe? If she'd somehow get even the smallest inclination that her almost-boyfriend was being harmed, she was going to find the way to bring this entire place down. She didn't even need her blood powers to do that if it went there, her anger would give her strength enough.

The humidity was annoying through. That's what you got when you had stalactites and puddles, and the air was heavy enough to be annoying to breathe in. Another thing they had probably done purposefully.

And then the tunnel finally opened, and Scherezade could breathe again. It was still humid of course, but a lot less so. Faces and hoods were clustered around, and though she couldn't properly rely on her eyesight in the torch light, she could smell the blood of every one who was there separately. Unfortunately, it didn't reveal anything useful to her, so she maintained her silence for the time being.

"You are to proceed to the staging area," he said, precise. "Scanner will confirm your identity there. Do not deviate from the path. All questions will be answered in sequence."

Seriously?!

With a groan and a melodramatic roll of her eyes, she entered the staging area, almost surprised to see other people there.

First mission, pass through the scanner.

Scherezade stood at a random line of people and waited for them to go before her. Once her turn came up, she stood in front of that camera, eyebrow raised. A voice recording asked her to smile.

"Okay!" she feigned excitement, and gave the camera a vulgar gesture as she grinned from ear to ear in what was probably the fakest smile she'd given in her life.

 

[Ecks]

The scanner blinked once, twice — a thin red beam swept over Scherezade's face and then cut off with a soft click. The camera didn't seem to care about her gesture; the machine beeped, registering her identity with all the emotional range of a dead droid.


"Confirmed," said the same vocoder-filtered guard, his voice devoid of even the faintest reaction. "This way."


He turned sharply, boots echoing against the damp rock, and began leading the small cluster of newly scanned arrivals down a gently sloping corridor. The hum of quiet voices grew with every step — the muted shuffle of dozens of others waiting, whispering, or muttering to themselves. The air thickened with heat and scent: sweat, torch oil, the faint metallic tang of blood dried into stone.


The tunnel widened again into what could only be described as an amphitheater — carved directly into the belly of the mountain. Tiered seating ringed a broad stage of blackened stone where several sigil banners hung from jagged hooks, their symbols painted in dark crimson and ochre. The patterns glowed faintly under the torchlight, shifting almost imperceptibly as if alive.


The guard gestured toward the open lower floor. "Remain here until instructed," he ordered, then faded back into the shadows as efficiently as he had appeared.

"What drew you here, pink-skin?"

The speaker was a rat-human hybrid: fur matted around his cheeks, yellowed incisors protruding when he grinned, eyes beady but intelligent. His clothes were patchwork armor and scavenged synthcloth, smelling faintly of ozone and cheap liquor. He tilted his head in curiosity, tail flicking once against the stone.

"Most who come to this pit," he added, with a twitchy grin, "come for blood, vengeance… or to forget."

The torches hissed around them, and on the stage, a figure began to emerge from behind the sigil banners.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

The scanner blinked once, twice, and Scherezade was cleared. The damn thing confirmed her picture, vulgar gesture and all. For a moment she debated floating into the air and mooning the camera, but it was too late by now as she was being led elsewhere. Boo.

She followed him through more damp rock tunnels, eyes darting around to take in as many details as she could. The place was obviously massive. But there was something reassuring about the fact that she now knew it hadn't been built for her. The proof was in the pudding, as there were other people there.

They were instructed to remain on the lower floor, so Scherezade shrugged and leaned against a wall, arms crossed. Instead of joining in on some of the smaller fights that were happening like she really wanted to as a way to release some steam, she listened. The conversation near here, the one where people spoke of people who came here…

Naw. It wasn't for her.

"Some of us were invited," she grumbled, still leaning against the wall, "but since you're suggesting people actually know about this place before coming here, how about you tell me what this place is? Because I'm not a happy little camper right now, and if I stay unhappy for too long, I break, and when I break, I break buildings with me. And people."

The threat in her voice was anything but. It was a mere explenations of how the timeline would unfold if she was kept too long in the dark. And of course, Kael, was sitting in her ship, waiting for her. She was going to have to make her way back to him soon, before impatience would make him place himself in danger for no reason.

And then she had an idea. Her face lit up.

Kael, can you hear me? She asked through the Force. Her ship wouldn't block it, but she didn't know if anything else might, If you can, just think a tangible thought, I'll be able to read it from here.

 

[Ecks]

The rat chuckled, a dry, nasal sound that scraped the stone. "Oh, you speak pretty, pink-skin, but don't get clever — thoughts tend to cost a pretty penny in places like this. Folks who fling mind-noise around usually bring more trouble than coin. If you're one of those Force types, well — you should know how to keep your whispers soft. Or don't. Makes the show more interesting." He leaned closer, teeth flashing. "So — what's your price for a little telegraphy, sweetheart? Or are you here to collect a debt?"

 

[Kaelon Virex]

Back on the Giggledust, Kael's hand was still on the holo-console when the sound of her name cut through whatever haze had been settling his morning. He bolted upright so fast the stool tipped; for a beat he just stared at the cockpit ceiling, breath snatched and raw, a ridiculous sense of dislocation crawling over him. He had no idea how he'd caught that thought — didn't know whether to trust it or chalk it up to nerves — but he didn't wait to figure it out.

"Scherezade?" he called, voice bouncing down the corridor, equal parts alarm and command. "Scher — Kael here. Can you hear me? You all right down there?" His palms found the comm panel even as he scrambled for traction, eyes darting to the ship's sensors and the link status like a man checking a wound

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Scherezade spoke pretty? She lofted an eyebrow, holding herself from adding more pretty words to him. He was so in her face that she could smell his stinkiness even without needing to rely on any of her blood hound abilities. Ugh. Didn't rats shower normally? And instead of answering, he only gave her more questions.

The Sithling sighed, and without telegraphing her movements, her right arm threw a punch straight into its ugly rodent face.

A second punch would've joined it if it hadn't been for Kael's voice in her head. Yes! He understood the assignment! Though, from this distance, she couldn't tell that he was also speaking the words, but it didn't matter, as long as it actually worked.

It's a stinky place and they took a holopicture of me so far, she answered him, but there's this rat dude I just punched like, right before I heard you. May be in trouble. Will send another update in a few minutes when I know if he's gonna try to bite back.

 

[Ecks]

The grunt that followed Scherezade's haymaker landed like a drumbeat through the amphitheatre. A handful of spectators who'd watched the rat take the floor broke into surprised, delighted applause — bloodsport liked its sparks, and a woman who could settle a scuffle with one punch made for good theatre.

Then the lights dimmed, subtly, as if the cavern itself leaned in. From the shadowed wings of the stage a figure detached and walked forward: all black, every edge swallowed by the void. The polygonal mask she'd seen before absorbed the torchlight; it made him look like a hole where a man should be. His coat hung perfectly and terribly, fabrics that did not so much move as swallow the air around them.

He didn't stride. He arrived with the quiet assurance of a predator who'd already counted the breaths of every animal in the room. Behind him, like a procession of precisely placed punctuation, came the guards—numbers stitched across breastplates: 002 through 008. They framed him, a wall of muted menace, each figure a practiced silhouette with weapons resting but ready at the hip.

Ecks stepped to the center stage and tilted his head, letting the stone chamber drink him in. His voice, when it came, was fed through a modulator that flattened warmth and amplified menace; it rolled across the audience like a tide.

"Welcome," he intoned, slow and deliberate. "You have traveled, hunted, stolen, and begged to be here. Some of you for coin. Some for glory. Some… simply because you enjoy watching the sparks."

He spread his hands as if presenting a prize. "Tonight there will be no referees, no mercy, and no weapons from your past lives. This is raw. Primal. A free-for-all: the best unarmed contender takes the reward. The losers…" He let the silence thicken, the modulator making the last syllable a rasp. "The losers will either wish they had died quickly, or learn why they should have."

A ripple of nervous laughter and a few scattered cheers rose from the crowd.

"If you do not wish to participate, leave now," Ecks said, voice clipped. "There will be an exit. There will be choices. For those who stay—prepare yourselves. The arena opens at midnight. Bring nothing that you would not stake with your life."

He turned once, the mask's facets catching the torchlight like fractured promise, and the guards slid forward, closing the circle with a soft, efficient shuffle. The proclamation hung in the air — a clear line drawn in wet stone: the game had begun.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

As she'd expected, the rat thing crumpled at the mere touch of her hand. She hadn't even punched him that hard. Typical rodent. The first groan barely made it past the floor before a cluster of onlookers leaned in, eager for spectacle. Scherezade rolled her eyes. There was nothing to see here, just another creature who woke up deciding to be an idiot. The fight was over before most of them had even noticed it had begun.

The lights dimmed, slow and deliberate. Whoever was in charge of the dramatic effects probably loved his job. Another figure emerged from the shadows, this one carrying the air of someone who'd already rehearsed every step, every tilt of a head. He didn't even glance at her, just strutted into the centre, tossing words around. Scherezade flicked her eyes across the crowd. Some were leaning forward in anticipation, while others looked amused, others awed. Pathetic.

And then he spoke.

She let the words roll over her, tuning out the showmanship, the careful pacing, the modulated menace. This was the part where most people would feel impressed. She felt… nothing. Her eyelids flickered once. Why had she even been invited here? She didn't want their prizes. She didn't want their attention. Her to-do list had teeth enough without adding this circus to it.

But one phrase snagged her interest: leave now.

A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. That part was interesting. Really interesting. She could walk away if she wanted. No contracts, no rules she had to pretend to honour. She could simply step out and vanish.

Her boots scraped against the stone floor as she turned her head toward the shadows at the far side. "Where's the exit?" she called, her voice cutting through the chatter, booming over the stage, clear and confident. The assembled audience fell into a hush, not expecting defiance so early. The games might have, but she was totally cool with sitting this one out. She could let everyone else entertain themselves first while she made an exit and ran back to Kael.

 

[Ecks]

The sound of her boots still echoed when the entire amphitheatre seemed to breathe in at once. The torches hissed; their flames bent low as if in deference—or warning. On the stage, Ecks didn't move at first. He simply looked.


Or rather, the mask looked for him. The way its facets shifted under the torchlight gave the illusion of an unblinking stare that cut through every face in the audience until it found hers.


"Scherezade deWinter," his modulated voice crooned, metallic and low, resonating through the cavern walls like a pulse. "Do you wish to return to your weaker half already?"


The moment her name left his speaker grille, the crowd fell dead silent. Then came the ripple.


A sneer from somewhere on her left: "Bantha fodder."


Another, louder, with a derisive laugh that echoed off the rock: "Weak-ass tourist! Go back to your ship!"


A handful of chuckles followed—sharp, eager, mean-spirited. It was that pack laughter of people desperate to align with power, to prove they weren't next.


Ecks remained absolutely still, letting the noise play out just long enough for tension to curdle into discomfort. Then, without a single gesture, the volume of his next breath filled the chamber again—electronic, deliberate, aware.


From the flanks of the stage, two of the numbered guards—004 and 005—stepped back into the shadows and vanished into the tunnels from which the procession had come. The timing was too sharp to be random. Someone had been given an unspoken order.


Ecks finally tilted his head, the mask angling slightly toward her once more. "If you would walk away," he said, his tone a precise mixture of mockery and invitation, "then walk. But remember… this pit doesn't let its ghosts leave twice."


A soft, mechanical click followed, echoing from the cavern halls beyond—the sound of doors unlocking, or maybe locking again. The crowd watched her in hushed anticipation, waiting to see if the defiant woman with the venomous eyes was ready to TRULY leave.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Scherezade chuckled as the masked douche tried to rile her up, insinuating that Kael was somehow her weaker half. Sure, he didn't have the Force, but if she was one to judge, that didn't make him weaker in anything that actually mattered. The snickers that came from the crowd turned her chuckle into a giggle. They were trying to posture, and for what? By her calculations, the games weren't going to be of the friendly sort, and at least half of them would be dead before sunset.

And then came that weird-butt warning about ghosts.

"Dude," Scherezade laughed now, "I'm not a ghost. I also didn't ask to be here. You hacked my navsystem and invited me while I was happy spending time without your interfering with my so called weaker half."

And that was just what she was going to do.

The onlookers could stare as much as they wanted to. Unlike them, she didn't have to prove anything to anyone. These buttholes were late by a decade if they wanted that side of her.

Kael, brace yourself, she sent a warning to him, They said I could just go. They also called you weak. I'm making my way back to the ship but they've probably got something nasty cooking for you. If they do, take off and meet me at Nar Shaddaa in three days, I can take care of myself. Don't let them catch you or my ship.

And with that, a huge smile appeared on her face, and she began to make her way towards the hall that sounded like it had big heavy doors at the end of it.