Private Hereafter

[Zaavik Perl]

Safehouse, Location [REDACTED]
Weather Conditions [REDACTED], 02:53 Local Time
Every route I take leads right back to you.
Darth Daiara
​

---

More than thirty minutes had passed since the flame of Zaavik's fusion torch had died. All night he'd been lapsing in and out of presence, constantly shifting into a dejected daze. Fixing the damage he'd sustained to his cybernetic manus required infinitely more focus than he could manage to muster. It was so painfully unlike him, not being able to channel problems into some kinesthetic activity. Self-awareness of this hangup made it exponentially worse, conniptions welling up every time it crossed his thoughts.

Dax was finally asleep, due to a small nudge in the Force on the part of his father and having tired himself out from constant fuss and terror. The quiet placidity which reigned in the absence of a fearful child was from the relief Zaavik had expected it to be. Young as Dax was, he was still old enough to give a shit, old enough to yearn for his aunt whom he had no notion not to believe was his mother, old enough to fear. His Father was the closest equivalent of a boogeyman that Dax had ever known, having yet to regard him with anything than infantile horror.

It had been a whole day, and nothing could convince that kid of his father's benevolence. He wouldn't even eat.

Those eyes were the worst part. It was like seeing a ghost, weeping and devoid of anything positive. Zaavik's gaze was starting to mirror it, reddened and swollen on the underside, each scope a nexus of tears that intermittently rolled down his face with no remorseful fanfare. Nothing could have prepared him for this, nor the fallout that followed it. For every inch of progress he'd gained, every morsel of power he'd consumed, in the end, it meant little in the face of that verdant, weeping gaze. Every whimper of fear that met his ears might as well have been a lobotomy of the soul.

Just as soon as he thought the past was dead, it received a festering revivification. Those invisible ties he'd been adamant to cut had hardened upon the blade, leaving nothing so simple as execution. Disgusted by his own wallowing, but incapable of cessation, Zaavik lingered on the safehouse's ungiving sofa in a perpetual state of paralyzed self-contention.

A premonition roused him from that statuesque rut after uncountable moments of silent lamentation. Someone was coming. It was revealed in a flash of mental sensations; the image of an opening door, the sounds of indiscernible clamor, the adrenaline of violence. Self-preservation and that of his child had felt as if were the only things demanding enough to have ever hoped to get him to ever lift a finger again. Now those very circumstances had presented themselves to him as if the Force itself was trying to snap him out of it, and a potent attempt it was, with fight being the only reaction he'd ever known.

A sore hand slapped the central panel, channeling the Force to send a notion through the saferoom's systems. The entrance to the 'panic room' where Dax was sleeping became concealed by a false panel that mimicked a solid wall. All of the lights shut off simultaneously, and every small window to the outside was blocked by shudders. Unable to fully utilize his dominant hand, Zaavik retreated into imperceptibility, as was his wont. Drawing a blaster, he skulked into the far corner of the room and pre-aimed to fry the brain of the first person to make it through the entrance.

The rhythmic pulse of his heart in his ears was the only sound he could hear as the feeling of adrenaline he'd portended finally came to fruition.

 

[Darth Daiara]

Heeled boots marked the arrival of a clocked figure, who entered with the simple turn of an old fashioned key. No amount of Zaavik's tricks could have barred that entrance, no did they seem to expect him to try. They entered with empty hands and open palms and simply... stood there.

Darkness billowed off the foreign figure, its heavy presence echoing off it like a war drum. Or a warning sign. They made no attempt to hide what they were, red eyes catching a glimmer of light under the hood as they looked around. Nothing about them would be expected, not at first. Haggard cheek bones and blood-red lips hovered over an exposed collar that bore no scars.

No blemishes.

No color.

No life at all.

Those lips flared into a scowl that revealed teeth. She turned and locked them both in. "I can feel you, you idiot." The hood tossed back to reveal a smooth gathering of red hair.

 

[Zaavik Perl]

A glacial hand seized the inside of Zaavik's chest, sending an insidious chill through his every vein. Breathing suddenly felt laborious, no longer an involuntary function. Adrenaline surged through a body that lacked the volition to act on every instinct that pleaded with him to pull the trigger. He'd yet to fully take in her image, intruding visage still obscured behind the cold, steel obstruction of the blaster's analog sight. With every moment that passed, Zaavik knew each of them could be the one where a single twitch of his finger would finally remove the thorn before him from the ever-self-complicating equation that was his existence.

Zaavik's presence came into view with a visual contortion of color onto the real as light ceased bending around him. Revealed was a stygian, predatory revenant two years forged in journeys and horrors undocumented. A malicious reflection of what had once been, still was, and never would be again. Eyes wide, teeth bared behind a twisted semblance of a smile, Zaavik presented himself for only a moment, just long enough for her to know for sure that it was him before he pulled the trigger.

Rather, before he would have pulled the trigger. Once they were truly eye-to-eye, the notion of killing her so unceremoniously become infinitely more difficult. In that bittersweet emerald sea that stared back at him, all he could see was Dax. Still, the armament remained raised, pointed with hollow intent that echoed his greatest failure.

First his revealed son, now his estranged lover? Was this what the Dark Side had ordained? None of it matched the countless premonitions that seized his memories on a near-nightly basis.

"You." he seethed. Anger swelled, indignation on behalf of the child she hadn't bothered to name or nurture. Teeth ground together, still exposed beneath an adrenaline-contorted snarl.

"Dogged as ever." Under different circumstances that could have been a compliment. At the moment, however, it was an observation of resentment.

Of course she hadn't changed.

"Tell me what you want before I scramble your brains out the backside of your head."

 

[Darth Daiara]

She turn, undaunted by the muzzle of a barrel staring her down. His resentment was taken in. His appearance noted with unwavering detail. Every aspect of his unwelcome was reflected in the chaotic stillness of the room.

She smiled.

“That’s a lot of words for a deadman. ” Malicious glib reached the deaden light in her eyes. She stepped forward, palms exposed and opened as she embraced his response.

“And yet, no words of affection for me?”

 

[Zaavik Perl]

A decrepit thumb raised and clicked the precharge latch forward on the blaster. The capacitor whined, pitch raising until it was inaudible as it condensed tibanna into a fire-ready charge.

"You didn't come here for affection."

Index finger strayed from the guard to wrap around the trigger. Boots remained planted in place as she approached, unfettered by the wordless threat. Zaavik's visage lifted, settling behind the sight once again to narrow the blaster's aim to the equidistant point between Aradia's painful eyes.

"I won't tell you again, spit it out."

 

[Darth Daiara]

She raised a brow.

“Didn’t I?”


She took a step forward, taunting his threat with each sashay. He wouldn’t kill her. Despite everything she knew it in her core. Beyond the darkness, beyond the pain, she knew it wouldn’t be done.

She smirked and shrugged the question off, shoving her hand into her pockets.

“You’re the one that decided you didn’t want me. That’s what that was, wasn’t it? Not Vesta, not the Jedi, or those imperial filths ,” she spat the word, the only thing to break her causal tone.

“Zaavik… Zaavik it’s me. Zaavik, please,” she mocked her voice messages with breathy distain. He would have gotten them then. Her nose flared, the force lashing out like a creature in death’s throes.

“You’re the one pointing the gun.”

 

[Zaavik Perl]

"It was never about you," he contended.

Mocking echoes evoked a sneer from Zaavik. It had been a while since he thought about that final message, and now he was forced to remember the needle twinge it struck into his chest. Pupils shrank, accentuating his magmatic gaze as adrenaline and hatred occupied the space that regret and sorrow would have normally taken. With a child in the picture, everything had a new meaning and connotation. Hidden regrets were now kindling for the blaze.

“You’re the one pointing the gun.”

"You're right."

His grip tightened, finger closing toward his hand and releasing the pre-charged shot with a scream from the muzzle.

 

[Darth Daiara]

The malicious gleam shattered to shock, her pupils dilating as the shot echoed out. Nothing stopped it’s projectory. In the millisecond she would have to understand she did only that.

Her body flew back, fragile form hitting the door with crack and a subsequent thump into the ground.


The air grew silent … And stale. Sense of smell would cut off. Moisture… one’s strength. It was as if life itself drained from the space around him.

She stirred. A pitten died an apartment over. Calmy palms pushed against the floor, revealing the ghastly sight of a half burned facade. Faint shimmers of energy stretched over her exposed, charred skull, speaking of the force shield that had been erected just in time.

But not quite quick enough.

She grimaced through the pain … and barked a laughed.

“Thank you. She needed to see that.” Her eyes locked with his. The force drain slammed into him and PULLED.