One Big Ol' Rescue - Again.

[Vittore Montegue]

* * *

The polished chromite of Vittore's FWG-5 glinted in the unusually subdued lighting of the Anathema, as he panned it back and forth to sweep each direction of the auxiliary corridor they'd just descended into. Satisfied that the immediate vicinity was clear, he wrenched the respirator mask from his face with violent eagerness, and sucked in a deep breath of Imperial brand atmosphere. He hated those damned things, about as much as he hated being outside in hard vacuum wearing one of them. Any day other than today, if you asked Vittore to step outside of a spacecraft without it being landed on a planet, he was doing it inside a full pressure suit with multiple redundancies, and several hours of back-up air. Sure, he wasn't exactly a safety conscious sort of guy about most things, but the continued ability to breathe was a pretty fundamental consideration for him; right up there with making sure your blasters were actually charged, and not making cavalier blind jumps into hyperspace.

Today though, that hadn't been an option. The Anathema may have been a formerly Republic ship - according to Kira's data profile, at least - but she'd been refit by the Empire, and that meant standardized Imperial docking rings on the external airlocks. Those were great if you happened to have a TIE Fighter, or an Imperial shuttle, or pretty much any other kind of craft constructed in the last couple of decades. Show up in a Y-Wing, though? Particularly a first generation Y-Wing like his girl outside? The stuff just didn't want to jive together, parts not wanting to plug into other parts, on account of the Y-Wing having lumps, and gunner turrets, and that sort of thing in all the wrong places. That meant that, after their playful little bombing run had been completed, Vittore and Sadie had needed to mag-lock onto the Anathema's hull, and then hop out for a quick stroll to the nearest utility airlock hatch, wearing nothing but breather masks and a few tight-fitting starfighter jock smocks. It was safe, in the way that gear designed to preserve the life of a pilot ejected into hard vacuum in the heat of a space battle was safe. In other words: safer than you'd probably think, but way less safe than Vittore was comfortable with.

Vittore heard the soft clunk of Sadie's boots on the ladder rungs behind him, and fought the powerful urge to glance behind and check out the view as she descended. Instead he urged himself to advance a few paces into the corridor, eyes narrowing a little to peer through the dimness. The ion bomb targets that Atton Kira had marked out were very specific. Disabling power to the hyperdrive was an important start, but there had been other systems carefully positioned within the blast radius of each detonation; disabilities to the ship that would hopefully give the insertion team a slight edge, without it seeming as if the attackers had deliberately set out to cause them. Forcing the Anathema onto emergency lighting was one of them. Silently, Vittore hoped that his flying had been good enough to succeed with the others.

He felt a silent tap on his shoulder, Sadie wordlessly informing him that her boots were on the deck plates, and she was ready to roll. The hunter side of Vittore's psyche was ready to move off in an instant, but something else tugging at the back of his mind gave him pause. One last tactical glance was thrown either way down the corridor before he turned towards her, gun falling towards his side as the freed hand settled itself gently against Sadie's arm.

"You ready for this?" he asked, with just enough of a concerned note in his words for Sadie to know it wasn't the danger or the objectives that he was asking about.

[Sadie K'Vesh]

Nope. Maybe. "As 'm ever gonna be."

At least it were an honest answer, even if Sadie weren't quite sure if it registered more in the positive than the negative. They were here though, no real turning back allowed, she figured. Not that she would; Sadie'd had just about enough of turning blind eyes to things where action should have been made. She weren't quite sure when that feeling started in her, maybe it was back when them Rebellion types, maybe it was on account of the Savin' People part of her and Vitt's job description sometimes, or maybe it were just a part of growing up that Sadie done sprouted into. Weren't a bad thing, though; trying to do the right thing when need called for it rarely was something to look down on. Unless you were doing something really really stupid - so maybe this all fell into a semi grey area. Whatever, still too late to call it all off.

Sadie followed Vitt's lead, just like they usually did 'cept them necessary times when she'd run point. Truth was, she weren't real sure how handy she was gonna be in all this. Yeah sure, she could make use of a blaster and even had in recent times but that had been against scummy types that maybe were good but weren't to Imperial Academy Graduate good. Not that military training auto made a body good at shooting and defending positions and all, but it sure as frak didn't hurt none either.

"Guess we should be all kinds of glad it ain't some city-sized ship she's on," Sadie half mumbled her herself, just under a whisper, one of them voices that was fully prepped to stop yapping any time now.

The Dreadnought class ship weren't small, and Sadie and her cohorts didn't exactly have no x-ray vision to see where Elira was being held, but there were a few educated guesses floating about and well... was like she said, could have been worse, could'a been one of them damned Star Destroyers where a body had a better chance of getting lost and starving to death than rescuing anybody from anything.

[Vittore Montegue]

Vittore paused at the corner of a corridor junction, closing his eyes for a brief moment so he could listen out for footsteps and such like beyond. Moderately satisfied that it was clear, he risked a covert glance; nothing. Another stretch of empty corridor.

Something prickled at the back of his neck, some uncomfortable sensation that could just as easily have been instinct or impatience. Sadie was right: this wasn't a big ship, but it was an uncomfortably empty one. Sure, he supposed it made sense that Black Ops, or Remnants, or whoever the hell these people were might not have the manpower to stuff a ship like this to the gills. And sure, Kira's report talked about automation and what-not slashing the crew requirements of these old Dreanaughts by a factor of eight. There were even stories floating about certain parts that the Republic had built a whole fleet of these ugly tubs, slaved them together, and launched them off into hyperspace for some ass backwards idiot reason. Vittore wasn't sure if he believed it or not; but yeah, okay, so maybe a few miles of empty twisting corridor was normal for a bucket like this. Something just felt off, though. Something weird. One of those I know something deadly is in here, but I don't know where it is, and it hasn't noticed me yet sort of feelings.

"I dunno," Vittore countered, in a voice that matched Sadie's cautious tone. "Snatchin' someone from a Star Destroyer might work out easier. Sure, they're covered in guns, an' filled with a bunch a' people carryin' guns -"

He advanced slowly down the corridor, falling silent before each blind spot, waiting until he was confident no one was within earshot before he made another sound.

"- but at least the damned things all have their kriffin' detention cells in the same Force damned place."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

"Yeah, but where's th' fun in that?"

It had gotten like this between them on jobs: stress relief via sarcastic banter. Worse a situation got, the more the sarcasm came out. Right now they were only about on a scale of 4 outta 10, so that weren't so bad. Vitt had gone up to about a 7 when they'd suited up and gotten ready to make the outside trek to the Dreadnought's innards so their current was something to say at least. Hallways continued to be all ominously empty like this, though and Sadie might just try and outdo him yet, however.

The small bag she always seemed to have strapped across her body that hung close to her hip was yanked open, full trust placed that Vitt would nail whatever - if ever - came at them while she was occupied. Trusty datapadd was retrieved - Not THE trusty datapadd that had served her well for oh so many years, that was deader than dust. One of the first order of operations had been to wipe that damn thing clean remotely when she'd gotten access to everything again thanks to Atton. Couldn't pull nothing from it, just clear it out and scramble the remains as a fail safe. Damn shame that, but this new one was starting to work out nice - if nothing else, the newer model was appreciated.

"If we can find an access panel, I might be able to mail heads or tails of where they might be stashin' such a joint on this heap."

Didn't take long, that was the nice thing about ships like these, always had ways for the crew to do things and communicate and all that. Bigger crews meant more spots - even if the crew were currently missing or never there in the first place or whatnot.

A small flat object was pulled from the bag next, bent at just enough of a small angle to help get the necessary type of leverage to pry the cover of the panel off. Next a small cable and without further ado datapadd and console were connected and Sadie set about trying to pull down the info without altering the entire damn ship she was doing so.

She didn't want to curse their progress so far - since it weren't all that much, really - but a thought came to her while she was lookin' 'bout for a diagram of the layout of the ship. This is too kriffin' easy. By now she'd expected them to meet at least some resistance - even the Anathema's computer weren't putting up much offa battle in giving up the goods.

"Got it. Ain't too far from where we are if I'm lookin' at this correct." The cable was tugged out and Sadie looked at the removed cover, wondering if it was even worth putting it back in place. Instinct was saying to do it - leave no trace, but Sadie werne't all that sure it'd be found all that quick, neither. "Gimme a sec to send th' info t' Inyos an' we can be on our merry."

[Inyos Aamoran]

Inyos glanced down as his data device silently informed him of the floorplan his Padawan had transmitted. Their plan called for the two starfighters to breech the Anathema through different auxiliary maintenance hatches, converge upon wherever Elira was being held, and then make their way to the hangar where they would either liberate an escape route from Imperial custody, or pry the doors open so the Crimson Tide could perform a speedy extraction. Alternatives had been suggested, like breaching via the hangar directly and attempting to hold it; but even the prospect of a Mandalorian comrade with a preposterously large repeating blaster had not been enough to make that strategy seem sane. At least this way, there was less risk of drawing the ship's entire troop compliment down upon their heads.

The faint pressure against his mind of another presence nearby snapped Inyos' attention away from the data device. Swift and fluid motions grabbed the Imperial technician by his lapel, dragging him off balance and towards Inyos, right into the path of a quick elbow strike to the temple. The impact wasn't quite enough, but it dazed the mechanic enough for a thrust of Force to send him slamming into the adjacent wall, slumping downwards into an unconscious heap.

Inyos reached out with his senses, searching the path ahead for further company. The corners of his eyes scrunched in a faint grimace. He felt something, but his perceptions felt clouded, and the specific details were hard to identify. It was something familiar, something from his past; but not Elira, he was sure of that. He felt her too, present but not in focus enough to discern a specific location; each time his mind brushed against the faint edges of her aura, his gut twisted with anger and pain. The other sensatoon though, that was something else. Something older, even, like a faint whisper of a childhood memory, something from when Padawan Aamoran had been little more than a mere child. He slowed his breathing and reached out towards it, like someone blindly fumbling in the dark, trying to discern the edges, the shape -

Suddenly, whatever it was reacted, its attention turning on Inyos like the piercing beam of a searchlight. Inyos stumbled, recoiling at the intensity of the familiar presence, barely managing to catch himself against the corridor wall. It wasn't possible. He was supposed to be dead. The same was true of Inyos as well, of course; and yet apparently here they both were. The will of the Force working in mysterious ways.

Inyos reached for the comm unit tucked into his ear. Their operating protocols called for silence where possible - just because their transmissions were jammed didn't mean the Empire wouldn't notice that they were coming from inside the ship - but now seemed like the most mitigating of circumstances.

"We have a problem," he offered enigmatically. No time for undue explanation. "You need to find Elira, and leave."

The Knight's fingers wrapped around the spartan hilt of his lightsaber.

"I will handle it."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

Sadie wanted to protest, she was just that kind of person sometimes, but this was stemming from some strange nobody gets left behind deal. That weren't in the game plan and as much as helping to save her mum might mean at the end of the day, she weren't really willing to risk the friends - family - she had now.

There was something in the way that Inyos had spoken though that left no room for griping, no way to say frak no, we're heading t' you. She cast an uncomfortable look at Vittore, knowing he'd get the gist of her thoughts and the conflict that they were heaving up. A breath was taken, one of them long drawn out ones that let your head settle and tll your heart off for trying to make bad decisions.

"Y'heard him. Let's get movin' b'fore more trouble shows up."

[Mal'achi Ath-Thu'ban]

"Well, isn't this a pleasant surprise?"

Mal'achi was starting to utterly loathe surprises and he let it be known through every syllable that was spoken. Although the man standing before him wasn't the very definition of familiar, the aura that surrounded him was. A Jedi, how quaint; and not just any Jedi at that but one he had met oh so long ago back when he could have been considered respectable. Not that Mal'achi wasn't respectable now, mind you, he just very much doubted that his associates from back then would appreciate him fully now - Not that there were many, if any alive; Order 66 had seen to that. Though, as fate would always have it, some had slipped through the cracks. Inyos Aamoran was proof of that.

"Shouldn't you be dead? Emperor's orders aside, you don't exactly have the biological factors that allow for such..." Mal'achi waved his hand, not in any sort of conjuration except maybe that of thought. "Longevity."

He eyed the way that the Jedi readied his lightsaber with distaste. Saying that Mal'achi wasn't in the mood for such nonsense was a gross understatement.

"Please tell me you haven't come for that wretch of a woman; I'd hate to ruin your day."

[Inyos Aamoran]

Shouldn't you be dead? Apparently that sentiment was mutual. Inyos had been barely ten years old, barely a Padawan when the two of them had encountered each other. That should not have been memorable, but it was: not long after, Mal'achi Ath-Thu'ban had been slain by ruthless assassins on Baltizaar. Not only had his death left a lasting mark upon Andor Tyree, the Jedi Master that the two shared: the loss of many Jedi lives that Mal'achi had been part of had also included the Padawan of one Count Dooku. As the former Jedi had dragged the galaxy into the turmoil of the Clone Wars, Mal'achi's face, and the adjacency of his death to the war's alleged root cause, had been a personal connection that Tyree did not allow him to forget.

But Mal'achi had not died, clearly. The weight that Andor Tyree had carried on his shoulders was for nought. And now here he was, the familiar stench of darkness clinging to him. Inyos had questions, and craved their answers; but only one thing mattered now. This ghost stood between him and Elira; between him and restoring a sense of family to his Padawan. No amount of curiosity could be allowed to supercede that.

"Apparently the Bando Gora are not quite as good at killing Jedi as their reputation suggests."

Thoughts tried to nag at Inyos. If Mal'achi had survived, where had he been all these years? What was he doing here, amongst the Empire? One of their new Imperial Knights? A relic of the Inquisition? And what was he doing here, embroilled with Sarlacc, and the arrest of Elira Asael? Inyos noted the way he had spoken of her. Scathing. Dismissive. Personal. What animosity existed between the two? What the blazes had Elira gotten herself into this time?

Inyos tightened the grip on his lightsaber, ready to react when needed, but not prepared to make the first move.

"Elira Asael will be leaving with me. I am taking her home to her family." His eyes narrowed, a growl of threat creeping into his voice. "I suggest you not stand in my way."

[Mal'achi Ath-Thu'ban]

"Home. Family." The words were repeated thoughtfully, though far too much to be taken seriously. "And what family is that, exactly?"

Before Inyos could answer, Mal'achi tutted loudly, the clicking made seem to echo in the corridor. It almost sounded like laughter from afar.

"Mother dead. Father..." His head tilted from side to side as a shoulder shrugged. "Well, lets just say 'Dead' to keep things simple, yes? Surely you don't mean the younger brother, err - half brother." As he continued, Mal'achi's tone wasn't entirely derisive, but it was certainly there in hints and unspoken whispers.

"You know, I've never met the man but I have heard numerous stories. Another shame, I think. If things were different we probably would have gotten along splendidly. Another universe, another time, perhaps."

The almost jovial attitude fell away as his gaze narrowed shrewdly upon Inyos. Yes, from stories told it wouldn't be hard to think at all that the one named Atton Kira was behind some of this. But that couldn't be all.

The Jedi knew then. What exactly did that mean, though? Surely not Ossus; that could complicate matters in ways that Mal'achi wasn't prepared for and he didn't exactly feel like hearing or dealing with bad news of that sort. The only thing now was to see if he could garner the necessary information from a man taught by his former Master. Oh, how the universe does love it's games.

"You're mistaken, Master Jedi. You and I both know there is no where that Elira truly calls home and as for family... Well, who better to look after her best interests than her elder brother, hmm?"

[Vittore Montegue]

Vittore could feel the protrusions and sharp edges of the corridor wall digging into his back as he counted backwards from three. As zero arrived he stepped out, spinning to bring his slugthrower to bear, two shots snapped off with expert precision. Each one found its mark, piercing a vulnerability in his targets' Imperial issue armour, hollow point flechettes shredding and shattering the knee caps they carved through. The two Troopers crumpled, the muffled cries of agony from within their helmets cut short as the fast acting sedative coating took effect.

Perhaps a stun blast would have been more effective; but one had to presume that Imperial armour had to be good for something, and they didn't have the time to risk each guard encounter turning into a protracted scuffle. Armour piercing rounds, and a mix of pain and the right chems could take down a stampeding acklay if you knew what you were doing. Besides, if modern cybernetics could replace whole limbs, a new knee cap was a mere triviality.

Something was weird about these Troopers. Black armour. Strange helmets. They didn't really have the time to dwell, though. Confirming the next stretch of corridor was clear, Vittore tucked his pistol away, and quickly patted down the nearest Trooper's pockets and pouches. A second or two later, and he found what he was searching for. "Here," he called, holding up the code cylinder for Sadie to see, before tossing it towards her.

[Sadie K'Vesh]

"Why thank'ee kindly." If it had been any softer of a situation, Sadie might have given Vitt a bit of one of them mock girlie bows; probably weren't the time though.

Code cylinder sure made her life easier though. Not that she couldn't rig the doors open, but that sort of dren usually took a bit of time and Inyos' warning served as more than enough motivation to not dally. As the duo moved on, Sadie realized what it was about these damn military ships that she hated - they were gorram borin' - Halls all the same color, corridors all mirror images of each other. Was a damn near miracle that anyone could ever find their way through these things. She was used to picking out the tiny differences in stuff, and sure as skrag you'd get used to it all eventually but frak what a miserable damn existence.

One thing was for damn clear sure to her, though. If Sadie were gonna die, it sure as dren weren't gonna go and be in no place like this. Not without making some adjustments, at least; some big gaping hole to the blackness outside adjustments. Still, thanks to a little map and navigation system she'd worked up on her padd they were heading in the right direction. Opposition was getting a might bit more as thy went along, only further proving the point. Sadie left that stuff for Vitt, not that she didn't have the stomach for the work he was doing to the troopers - she just had other bits on mind and her own damn jobs to do.

"Jus' a bit further, if this thing's on th' honest. No word on how many guards might be waitin' for us, though."

[Vittore Montegue]

The guard that Vittore had swiped the code cylinder from stirred a little. Vittore helped him back to unconsciousness with a boot to the side of the helmet. It might not have worked ordinarily, with the shock padding and all, and might even have backfired, but Vittore was no rookie in danger of breaking his toes, and the durasteel caps in his boots got the job done just fine.

He was weary as Sadie provided her update. This wasn't the first time he'd had to fight his way to an objective: every bounty hunter faced that kind of a job from time to time, and even the freaks and monsters Vittore was contracted for could occasionally afford a little muscle. That was one of the myriad things that made Sadie so invaluable on the job. Data mining, false credentials, locked doors - all had faded into insignificance as obstacles. Maybe one day, her sessions with the Jedi guy would lead to more invaluable skills, and maybe even save his ass a few times. He was still coming to terms with that; still wrapping his head around the idea that the Force wasn't a defining trait. Because it wasn't, not with Sadie at least; and he couldn't help wondering just how many of the targets he'd put bullets and blaster bolts in had been nothing more than Sadies too.

Vittore flipped the latch on the side of his pistol, and slid out the magazine to check its contents. "Luckily," he said aloud, sliding the ammo back into place with a satisfying click, "I've got enough bullets f' everyone."

"Stay close," he added, pistol ready as he stepped through the door. "Hopefully these guys stuck to the theme, an' we're lookin' for one of those dumb hexagon prison corridors."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

"Aye Aye," The reply came with a bit of a forced smile.

Truth was, the closer they were getting to the belly of the beast, the more nervous Sadie was starting to feel. Not on account of raised danger or none of that, though she'd be lying if she said that weren't at least some concern. Nah, it all came down to what the frak was she supposed to say or not say when they got in the same room as Elira and pulled her out of whatever mess the Imps had her in. Sadie knew damn well how bad it might be, horror tales and all that; but the fact remained that they'd have to explain themselves somehow. Hey, I'm th' kid y' up an' abandoned an' 'm here t' rescue y', just didn't seem proper. Couldn't exactly go and say that they were sent by Atton neither, not with the fuss he'd put up and the fact this whole force-damned thing was her idea in the first place.

Sadie was starting to wish that their team had at least some familiar face to Elira, let one of them do the talking, her the slicing, and Vitt the badassery. But no, it was just the two hunters and Sadie was gonna have to think of something to go and say otherwise it was gonna end up being the first thing out of her mouth and the last thing she wanted to do was call the lady mum right from the start. Frakkin hells, should'a got some suggestions or somethin'. Aw well, was too late now and she sure as hells wasn't gonna go asking over the intercoms.

Well, it weren't no hexagonal mess, but the detention area - prison - brig - whatever you wanted to go and call it were a pretty obvious sight when it came up. Little help from a placard that identified it as such not withstanding. The two guards on either side of the door were one of them dead giveaways and Sadie waited not quite so patiently while Vitt took 'em out. Sealed door beyond was taken care of thanks to the cylinder, though Sadie figured the actual cells and such beyond might take a bit more.

Another round fired off by Vitt took care of whoever was in charge of keepin' watched on locked doors within. Easy job on a normal day, Sadie suspected; not so much today when the guy woke up and was gonna have to explain himself. She almost felt bad for the guy, almost suggested offing him now to save the pain of whatever would come later but that was a might too close to murder for her liking.

One of them big breaths was taken as she nudged the unconscious dupe out of the way and took over the console he was at. Few prisoners, it seemed, not just one. Shiny. Last thing Sadie needed to do was let out some angry Chevin or Swokes Swokes or other ugly bastard. Only identifying thing was prisoner numbers and none of them matched anything she'd seen on the doc that lead them on this journey in the first place.

"Frakkin Krolp... Well, let's go an' see what's behind door number one, yeah? I'm hopin'... a brand new landspeeder." Jokes aside, she made damn sure Vitt had his slug thrower ready before she keyed in the go-ahead for the cell to open.

[Vittore Montegue]

Vittore didn't know what he was expecting when those doors slid open. Or maybe he did. He'd seen this moment in holomovies a thousand times over, after all. Lady prisoner lying impatiently on the bunk. Door opens. Hero walks in. Pulls off a helmet. Says something suave. Not that Vittore was planning on sweeping Sadie's mother off her feet or nothing, but still. A little hero moment would have been nice, y'know?

What he saw was a different kind of familiar. His eyes had a split second to drink it in. The bed. The restraints. The rack of tools. The bloodstained hands and bloodsmeared smock of the man in the corner with the scalpel. Images flooded his mind. Sadie, chained to that cot back on Nar Shaddaa, runes and symbols and slices of all kinds carved into her flesh. The pain in his shoulder of a knife being jammed in and twisted, the ache in his wrists as he'd tried to struggle free from the cuffs that held him to the chair. The smell of burning person, burning monster, burning freak as he'd carved and burned and corroded his way to information in the past. And something else, lurking in the background of his mind. The redhead, with the hands that burned. The golden monster with the smile that gleamed and the eyes that glowed. The satisfied chuckles. The excruciating pain. The blackness that always followed.

The darkness crept out of the back of his mind, and wrapped itself around the edges of his vision. His pistol had fired before he even knew what was happening, flechettes puncturing the torturer's chest cavity, shredding the contents to shrapnel. Vittore had spent his life hunting aliens, Force users, targets that his employers called monsters. Right now, the galaxy saw fit to remind him that monsters weren't things. Monsters were actions. Monstrous choices. Monstrous deeds. Half the people he knew these days were Force users; half the others were non-humans of some sort; but Vittore had only seen one monster today. There was only one monster in that room.

He took a step forward, across the threshold. Now there were two.

The torturer, interrogator, medic, whatever he called himself, had slumped against a wall, tracking a bloody trail down the durasteel as he'd slid to the ground. Vittore could see the blood seeping from the hole in his chest; could taste the coppery scent on the air as he approached. Eyes stared straight at him, desperate. A mouth worked, only able to muster futile gasps rather than words. Monster or otherwise, pretty much everyone wanted the same thing at the end. To be spared. To be saved. Mercy.

Vittore raised his pistol again, three rounds discharged squarely at the Imperial officer's head. "Sorry, bud," he offered softly, allowing himself one last look before stashing his pistol away. "Fresh outta mercy today."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

"So... not even speeder bike then."

One last half-hearted attempt at humor was made, even if it went and tasted a might bit bitter. Vitt's lower toned voice coming after that rather overkill of shooting meant it probably wasn't good whatever had been there. The fact he wasn't back peddling out to move on to the next was another bad sign. That's a bingo, then.

Took a bit to get Sadie to actually pry herself off the console and start making her way towards the cell. Then came those thoughts of what the frak to say. Sad thing was Sadie knew it didn't matter what she came up with, it was all gonna fall outta her skull the second she saw anything, even if it weren't bad. Still, she found herself hesitating on the edge of the cell, just out of view from those inside and keeping those inside from her own view. Weren't like she was waiting on any kind of invite from Vitt or nothing, but this was it. Time to face a woman she couldn't remember ever meeting who'd done gone and brought her into this messed up Galaxy.

Well, as bad as Sadie was thinking it might be it weren't that. She already knew what Elira Asael would look like thanks to the data from Atton, but here was seeing and then there was seeing. Especially when a person was restrained to a bed in an all uncomfortably familiar sort of way. She wasn't bad though, at least not as bad as Sadie's worst nightmares had gone and pictured. Yeah, she wasn't good, neither, but nothing a few bacta patches and some pain killers couldn't fix near as far as Sadie could tell. That was good, well about as good as it could be with someone still having been on the edge of an Imperial whackjob's blade. She didn't seem all that with it, though. Eyes were open but no body seemed frakking home.

"Frakkers drugged her," Sadie tossed the obvious at Vitt, softer than usual though, no bite and - force dammit - was that concern?

She quickly went to the side of the bed and started making with the undoing of the restraints.

"Looks like we'll be havin' to help her out, literally."

[Vittore Montegue]

Sadie was right; and that was a problem.

Not the her being right part, but the fact that Elira Asael didn't look like she was in a state to walk out of here on her own power. They'd had a plan to compensate for that: that's why their little extraction team had three bodies, not two. Except that number three was off being secretive somewhere, probably stealing all of Vittore's damned hero thunder. Which meant that either Vittore or Sadie was gonna have to carry her solo; or they'd do it tandem, and have a hell of a time keeping themselves alive while doing it.

Vittore tucked his pistol a little more securely into the back of his pants, reaching inside his jacket instead for a more convenient weapon. Lighter, and enough stopping power to take someone down in a single easy shot; but only about twelve hits before the thing overheated and needed a new cell. The MSD-32 disruptor wasn't strictly legal either, nor was it the sort of weapon that you could shoot someone with and expect them to live, but frankly? To hell with these sithspit bastards. Vittore was done playing nice. Or at least, nice-adjacent.

Crouching a little to bring himself down to the right level, he guided a clammy and unresponsive arm to drape itself across his shoulders. The height difference was going to make this a pain in the ass, but at long as Vittore was able to hold up most of her weight, Sadie should be able to manage just fine with keeping her upright and on course. Hopefully Elira was the kind of drugs that left you vacantly on autopilot, rather than the kind that left you utterly immobile - he knew from experience that the whole feet dragging along the deck plates while people heave you around the place thing wasn't pleasant in the aftermath. Better than the alternative though, he supposed.

"I've only got one hand free," he pointed out, wrapping the other around Elira's back to hitch up her other armpit. "Gonna need you t' keep us alive until we get to our exit. You ready babe? We got this."

[Sadie K'Vesh]

"Damn right we do." Maybe. Hopefully if th' verse ain't in a mind t' frak us royally.

Truth was, up until this point Sadie had been downright confident, cocky even that this was gonna go smooth as anything. She hadn't really considered what was gonna happen if she and Vitt were forced into a situation like the one they were now arse-deep in. Elira wasn't heavy, not with the both of them supporting her - even if it were at odd angles - and apparently her head was having some sort of bare consciousness that let her kinda stumble along, but this was a far sight shy of ideal, that was for damned sure.

Important thing to keep in all kinds of perspective was that they had her. Which meant this whole operation could turn from findin' to gettin' th' frak outta here. Right then, on to stage two or whatever fraking stage this was at this point - Sadie figured a more organized and proper group of folks would actually keep track of that sort of thing but that certainly weren't them.

She would have felt a might bit better having a blaster in her free hand, but instead it was busy getting with finding a comm in her bag. Thank frak she weren't like some girls whose bags were somehow magical portals that contained every last bit of necessity and a damn sight more of stuff that weren't. Only the serious essentials were crammed into the small thing that was barely big enough for her datapadd and it's little tidbits. That made it easier to find what she needed on the hurry and before you could say could this get any worse and doom 'em all, she was radioing the Tide.

"Unc, we got what we came for, time t' make with th' gettaway. Sendin' y' our whereabouts now - layout should already be ready for ya. Don't suppose y' can make it nice an' easy an' get t' th' closest bay? Figure they gotta have somethin' nearby t' keep 'em from havin' t' haul bad-folks throughout th' whole damned ship."

[Inyos Aamoran]

Brother.

With every passing moment, that concept sank deeper into Aamoran's mind, the intricate woven web of the Force slowly revealing itself. His life as a Jedi had begun in the shadow of Mal'achi Ath-Thu'ban, the student his Master had proudly trained before him, whose tragic death in some small part had helped spark the Clone Wars that saw Inyos become a Knight himself. When the Jedi had fallen, it had been Mal'achi's sister who had helped smuggle him to safety, and come to terms with his life beneath the Purge. Years later, he encountered Elira's daughter by chance; and now she was his Padawan, the two of them liberated from personal suffering by the hands of Vittore Montegue. What purpose did the Force have, entangling him with this family so? What other segments of his fate were woven together with theirs?

Inyos pried an arm from where the crushing pressure of Mal'achi's Force abilities had pinned him, and lashed out with his own; enough to break his opponent's concentration for the split second it took to stumble free. His shoulders sagged from exhaustion, every ounce of effort invested in keeping Mal'achi focused on him, buying time for Saidra and her companion to complete their task. Fortunately for them, this unrecognisable shadow of a once Jedi was not lacking for ego.

"You betrayed the Jedi."

Inyos advanced, punctuating that statement with another thrust of Force; another shove to compromise Mal'achi's balance.

"You betrayed our Master. You betrayed your own family."

Reaching out with another arm, Inyos wrenched a maintenance panel from the wall, hurling it towards Mal'achi; something else for him to focus on for a moment. With each advancing step he mustered his energy, readied himself, focused on the lightsaber at his hip. One strike was all it would take. Guilt would follow, but for now Inyos saw a clear path ahead. An already dead brother, traded for a mother spared and a daughter reunited. It was an easy choice. A good bargain. The others on Cloud City would understand: after all, they called themselves the Exchange.

"To think," Inyos uttered, feeling the cool metal of his lightsaber in his fingers, almost ready to strike. "I once looked up to the legacy you left behind."

[Mal'achi Ath-Thu'ban]

"Well the way I see it, that's a bit your problem; not mine, now isn't it?" The general calm in his voice was bound to irritate Inyos - if a Jedi could get irritated, that was.

True, Mal'achi hadn't had any need for exertion of this nature in ages, but it undeniably felt good. There was something so utterly genuine about reaching out to The Force, of using it to deflect the Jedi's attacks and to launch his own in return. He had known the taste of this back when he himself had been misguided, but since embracing the true power that The Force had to offer, there was nothing that Mal'achi could truly compare it to. To think that Jedi denied themselves the full scope of what could be achieved was almost heartbreaking save for the fact that in a way it meantthere was simply more for those that were enlightened.

"Legacy..." It was hard not to laugh at the thought. Oh yes, once he would have been considered one of Andor Tyree's star pupils, a Knight worthy of praise if ever the Jedi could deem fit to offer such things. But now? Now he was so much greater than he ever was and barely a single soul knew his name. A name that was passed down from one of the great heroes of the Old Republic no less. Legacy indeed. Maybe Elira wasn't so mad for choosing to ignore it.

This entire clash was taking far too long to resolve, however. No doubt the Jedi had colleagues that were sniffing about and as much fun as toying with Inyos was proving to be, he did have better things to be seeing to.

"You know, I've always believed that Jedi were fools, and well, given who you came here to 'rescue' I haven't exactly seen any argument against it but truly... truly... now I know you are simply all irredeemable."

There was no denying how the surge that welled up behind him as he called upon The Darkside made him feel almost invincible, but only a true idiot would honestly perceive themselves that way. Still, Mal'achi couldn't help but grin as he brought down the full power he had called upon the Jedi. The pressure wave he envisioned wasn't simply pleased with crushing Inyos into the deck, it would hurl him down the corridor, willing bones to shatter upon every impact as he tumbled. In truth, the actual energy that was released wasn't quite so impressive, but it certainly got the point across. There was satisfaction in watching his enemy hurled away as if nothing more than a leaf caught up in a torrent of wind.

"Such a pitty. From what I heard you showed such promise on Ord Ithil."

[Inyos Aamoran]

Ord Ithil.

It wasn't easy to get a rise out of the wayward Jedi; and certainly not an emotional one. He felt of course, like everyone did: but his emotions were distant, and muted, kept out of reach behind stasis fields that let only the occasional fraction bleed through. A relic of a Jedi life was the easiest explanation, but in truth it had always been that way for Inyos, as long as he could remember, at least. Emotions slow to form, slow to boil, never really achieving anything more dramatic than a simmer. But that name? The name sparked in him, like the first ignition that set off a gas fire.

A hand lashed out, Force augmented muscles snatching hold of a protrusion from the bulkhead, arresting his ballistic trajectory at Mal'achi's impulse. His shoulder wrenched, but adrenaline and the Force prevented him from feeling the resultant pain. Instead he strained, planting his boots on the ground. Ord Ithil. The world pulsed in him, pounding in his ears like an angry heartbeat. Pinpricks of electricity prickled at his fingertips as his hands became fists. His eyes locked on Mal'achi across the length of the corridor. Ord Ithil. How did he know that name? How could he so casually mention the world that had consumed Inyos so totally; the black prison that had sustained him on an endless diet of sorrow and darkness? The world where Mandan Hidatsa had died by Inyos' own hands, and where he had succumbed to the same vile and bitter corruption that he sensed tainting Mal'achi's every word?

The anger clawed at him, like a persistent whisper inside his head, urging him to close the distance; unleash the full Force of his fury; to pound answers out of Mal'achi with relentless violence until Inyos' knuckles were cracked and bleeding. It urged him to tear the man limb from limb, to punish him not only for his knowledge, but for whatever this was: this threat to Sadie's mother, to Mal'achi's own sister, to the family - the crew - that had chosen to harbour him in these dark times. He knew where to strike, and longed to smell the sickly scent of lightsaber burning into expendable flesh, searing into shoulders, and thighs, burning fingers into stumps one tiny bone at a time -

The crackle of comms sliced through his anger: a familiar voice, a message waited for, and an equally familiar response. His Padawan, successful. Extraction inbound. Mission all but accomplished. Elira, safe.

Inyos' lips curled into an emotionless smile, eyes locked onto Mal'achi with a piercing stare that could freeze the blood. "Don't worry, Mal'achi," he called, a hand delving into the pocket of his jacket for the gift that Captain Montegue had insisted he bring with him. "I promise that next time, I'll show you exactly what Ord Ithil left me capable of."

The blaster was drawn in an instant, but it didn't train itself upon the Dark Jedi in the distance. Such an action would have been futile: any blast that it could have unleashed would certainly have been dodged, deflected, or otherwise shrugged off. Instead Inyos aimed for the small panel on the wall, affixed to the ridge that separated this section of corridor from the next. Energy sliced through the panel's circuitry, triggering the failsafe that caused the blast doors to close in the event of tampering, emergency, or battle damage. The diamond center point of the Imperial blast door shrank like a frame around Inyos' vision. It might have been a relief, or at the very least offered a sense of finality, were it not for the smug smile still affixed to Mal'achi's face.

Inyos refused to let himself dwell upon it. Fumbling Saidra's gifted data device, he tugged around the graphic of the Anathema's guestimated internal layout on the screen, zeroing in on his position, judging his options. The route to the hangar bay was through that freshly closed blast door. Of course it was. Behind him lay the path back to the fighter he had arrived by, but the danger of that choice clawed at his mind: even if the Imperials had not already determined his path well enough to be waiting for him if he doubled back, he couldn't risk the possibility that Mal'achi and his henchmen would conclude that the hangar was everyone's most likely destination. Formidable as Captain Montegue was, and grudgingly trustful as Inyos was of his ability to keep his Padawan safe, he couldn't risk the possibility of Mal'achi reaching the bay before them, and making this entire endeavour for naught. Idly, he recalled accounts read in his youth of Master Jinn's last mission as a Jedi, and Master Kenobi's chilling description of the dark threat that had awaited them in Naboo's royal hangar. That was not an occurrence he would allow to repeat.

There. An option. Instincts left to gather dust since the Clone Wars and the Purge stirred to life, the Force helping inspire him to a solution shown on the approximated schematics. He reached a hand to his ear, triggering the comlink that Saidra had calibrated for the Exchange's private use. "The danger is delayed, but only by a little. I am on my way to you. I have found a -" What was it Mandan always called it, moments before he did this very same thing? "- short cut."

Leaving the channel open, Inyos reached for his lightsaber and tugged it free, thumbing the azure blade into life and thrusting it into the floor, the superenergised plasma carving through the deck plates like a knife through butter.