rebuilder | dathomirs | for all the ghosts that are never gonna catch me

dathomirs | for all the ghosts that are never gonna catch me

The directive was a simple one. Routine even. For the Inquisitorious' most loyal hound, it was a test of his extensive conditioning. He wasn't a normal Inquisitor - where there was some level of free will with them, with this one, most, if not all of it had been snuffed out He had one order, and one order only: obey.

Often, obey meant kill. Destroy. Terminate a target, eliminate a base or a threat by wiping it off the map and vanishing as if he'd never been there. No evidence. Typically, he was sent alone, where an Inquisitor would have an entire squadron of troopers to lead. There wasn't much else. He was a blank slate, a sum of what they made him into, a ghost. He didn't think of himself as anything because his thoughts were all programmed by someone else.

As was his training.

Whoever he'd once been had been washed away under months of torture and conditioning until he truly was nothing but a weapon of the Empire.

(It wasn't foolproof - on more than one occasion a hint of something would slip through his shields, causing him to question... but they'd take him back and start fresh, wipe the slate all over again).

The pilot did not let up once they landed on the nearly empty ruins of the planet Dathomir. A nightsister, his target, there had been a knowing smile on Grand's face but he did not know what it meant nor did he care enough to ask as he gathered his gear and boarded the ship. The chip in his hand revealed a woman, zabrak by the look of it - according to the information, one of the last of her kind. He said nothing, or felt nothing as he stared at the holographic image for a moment longer than normal, before stashing it once again. Adjusting his helmet, he drew his saber and stepped lightly over the rust red terrain to where he believed he would find her.

When he found the woman in question, he engaged, red blade flashing as he ducked, dodged, and struck against her. She was powerful; the report had said as much - not to underestimate her and do not come back until the job was complete. For a while it seemed like they were both on even ground and fairly matched well. Neither had the upper hand.

Not until she slipped past his defenses once, for only a second. The strike was strong enough to throw him back off his feel, the blank mask flying off his face as he hit the ground.

Get. Up. Do not fail. Or else.

Head still bowed, he climbed awkwardly back to his feet before meeting his opponents eyes, wiping blood from his mouth. Green eyes stared back from a face that might be all too familiar, if not slightly different - pale and thinner, but unmistakably the face of someone long since dead and gone stares back, eyes full of hate and rage, pain screaming into the force.

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If she's honest with herself, Merrin let herself be tracked in the hopes of exactly this moment. She'd heard reports of the new Inquisitor. She'd seen him from afar, always able to escape before being sighted too closely in return. She'd watched him fight with a mounting dread, a sickening sense of familiarity creeping over her.

He fights like Cal, the thought remained unvoiced even within her own thoughts, because it cost too much to contemplate what that might mean. But still she'd let herself be seen, followed, caught. Almost.

I saw you die.

She stands half-frozen for an instant from the sheer shock of seeing her twinned fear and hope realized at once before shaking herself out of it long enough to throw a web of glowing green tendrils at him. She only seeks to restrain now -- she'd been pulling her punches just shy of causing harm she could not hope to repair, and in the process had taken more than a few hits herself. She wouldn't have the energy to hold him forever. But she doesn't need forever.

Sisters, lend me your strength. Just a little longer.

She sucks in a hitching breath that wants to come back out again as a sob, but she stands firm, not daring to move an inch closer despite the nearly irresistable drive to throw her arms around him and refuse to let go.

"What have they done to you, Cal Kestis?"

He fights like a feral tooka against the bonds that hold him in place, no recognition in his eyes. Not even when -- who is Cal? That is not his name.

"Who?" He -- the ghost, the hound, his handlers call him a subject but he has no true name, asks with a barest tilt of his head. This had been a test, putting him up against his past to see how well the strength of his training and conditioning could hold up. Something flashes once in his mind, something distant and fleeting, a feeling of warmth but it's gone as quickly as it'd come and he finds himself fighting back with renewed vigor. Drawing on the force to pull himself free from her grasp.

He has never missed a mark. Kill her, failure is not an option.

Continuing to face him head on is a fool's errand; eventually she'll slip. Eventually she'll have to choose between her life and his if she allows him within striking distance. An impossible choice; one she refuses outright.

She releases her hold on him entirely in the instant that she vanishes from sight, only to reappear on a small rocky outcropping some distance above him. She looks down on him as she had years earlier, trying to reconcile the image before her. Trying to find some hint of the warmth that had radiated so brightly from Cal Kestis the first time he'd come to this planet, when she'd sought only vengeance and he'd met it with compassion. She holds her hands aloft, glowing magick at the ready to stun or distract as needed.

"We've been here before. I do not wish for a repeat performance; my sisters deserve to rest undisturbed. Stand down and we will talk."

She releases him and he catches himself before he can stumble, righting himself just as she vanishes. Where - ? The report had mentioned something about teleportation... he spins the hilt of his saber in his hand as she speaks again, locating her.

What is there to talk about? He stares at her from behind hair that's fallen into his eyes, with a snarl. Spits a mouthful of blood on the ground. That should answer her question.

And then he's rushing her, leaping with almost inhuman momentum to throw his saber.

He is lost, her sense of self-preservation warns her as she flings a blast of glowing ichor at his feet, aiming to unbalance rather than harm. If he lands badly he could break bones, but she knows Cal. He's taken worse falls. She doesn't look behind her as she vanishes from view once more and lands on another, higher ledge behind him.

"You have forgotten yourself. I will help you remember."

Another green blast, this one lesser in power -- not enough to kill, but enough to stun him perhaps to unconsciousness if it hits while he's distracted by the first. She just needs time, before one of them grows sloppy enough to make a fatal mistake.

The blast of ichor has the desired effect, he is not prepared for it and stumbles before he can dodge and leap out of the way.

Remember... remember what?

There's no time to give the prickle of unease in the back of his mind any thought, she's trying to distract and it won't work.

Except that it has. For everything he's never come across someone who was so matched to him... as if she expected every move he's made before he did it. She's thrown him off guard. And it shouldn't be this easy.

The second blast hits him just as he straightens up, knocking him off his feet and into the dust. His head cracks into the ground with a dull thud and this time he does not get up, hilt flying from his hand.

Merrin quiets the sharp concern that rushes to the surface the instant she realizes her magick has had the desired effect. She disappears one last time and lands on the ground next to him, picking up the dropped lightsaber first just in case.

Breathing hard, finally taking note of all the small hurts he'd managed to inflict upon her before this moment, she nonetheless manages to snap the restraints she carried for just this purpose around his wrists. They're not Force-blocking, unfortunately, but she doesn't want him cut off from the thing that might help him remember. She just wants him to be still.

With that done, she dares to reach out and run a faintly trembling hand down the side of his face. It's him -- there's no doubt about it. He's her Cal; the man she watched die a few years ago. She'd been there, but not soon enough to save him. She'd felt him disappear from the Force as strongly as she can feel him returned to it now, against all the rules she knew.

"You don't know how many times I asked the Force to give you back. Wake up, Cal Kestis. You aren't dead yet."

Dimly, he's aware of a pressure at his arms as his wrists are bound by cuffs. His body aches, but he's so familiar with pain; it's written all over his body and so deeply into his mind that he barely registers it as anything more than mildly annoying.

The force still answers to him at his call but it feels different. Wrong. It's wrong, something is wrong. He's confused and can't make sense of it, of what he's feeling - because his shields are cracking, fracturing. Even as he reaches for the certainty of his programming, he finds it lacking in it's effectiveness.

It shouldn't be so easy. The Grand Inquisitor. He will be furious at his failure, punishing him severely.

He stirs back to consciousness as the woman touches his face. Nobody has touched him with this kind of gentleness in years - maybe ever? He can only stare at her, breathing heavily.

"I am sorry for all of this. I do not want to hurt you, but I need you to be still and patient until you can remember. I've brought someone who can help."

She should probably be more cautious, but she can't bring herself to pull her hand away from where it rests against his cheek. She never thought she'd see his face again, and to her horror she'd begun to forget the nuances of it. Were his eyes always this green? Holovids were a poor substitute for the reality of him, and she finds herself blinking away a sting in her own eyes before tears can do more than threaten.

There will be time for that later. For now, she calls out without turning, raising her voice so that her companion can hear.

"It's all right, BD. You can come out now."

The words are scarcely out of her mouth before the overexcited beeping of a tiny droid pierces the air. A few moments later the droid in question appears, skittering frantically over and looking from Merrin to Cal in concern and beeping a flurry of questions.

Edited 2023-09-21 12:04 (UTC)

The touch burns. He wants to lean into it, rest his cheek against her warm hand for a reason unknown but he continues to stare up at her stock still and silent. Eyes still defiant, but there's a distance there that wasn't present before as the past threatens to creep slowly up on him.

Then she calls for someone and it's... a droid? Small, just slightly larger than a cleaning droid - certainly not a make he knows, with it's large visual receptors and two spindly legs.

His stare goes from it, back to her and back again.

He pulls himself up straighter.

I believe in you too, buddy. Cal (the name he tries on for size doesn't feel right in his head, it's someone else, anyone else - and if it did ever belong to him, he's no longer that person) jolts back slightly.

"I..." He shakes his head, ignoring the sudden pounding behind his skull. What are they doing to him?

"Give it time. Just watch, and remember."

She gives BD a small nod of permission, and the droid instantly starts up a holovid taken sometime a few years into their travels together; before they'd gone their separate ways for a time. Cal and Merrin are seated on one of the sofas, laughing at something while Greez and Cere are voicing some manner of objections while also trying not to lose the battle between their good sense and the humor of the situation. It goes on for a while, eventually devolving into an entirely ridiculous argument which culminates in tears of laughter and Merrin resting her head on Cal's shoulder in contentment at the end of it all.

She finds herself smiling in spite of the situation at hand, and is momentarily too transfixed by the memory she'd found too painful to revisit in years to notice when BD approaches one of Cal's still-bound hands to give it a gentle nudge of hopeful greeting.

The scene is so quaint and simple. Out of the four people present, only two strike any kind of familiarity to him - the nightsister and himself. But the people there are obviously close, and while the feeling of warmth is back, it's still only a video. It's like watching it outside of himself, this life belonged to someone else now.

Can you long for a life that you didn't know you had?

He lets his gaze wander to the woman again, watching her smile - it's important to her.

The sound of small footfalls has him turning back towards the tiny droid. Freezing as it's metal head brushes his bare skin and it's like getting struck by electricity. Since... since everything, he's had to reconstruct his mental shields that had been torn down by the Empire. Already they're weakened with what's transpired here today, it only takes the brief nudge to knock him back as the memories and feelings assault his senses.

More powerful than seeing something he may or may not have been a part of it.

"I'm waiting for someone too--" Curiosity, who left this droid here, and is it possible that they're waiting for the same person?

"We are not doing that again!" He would be lying if he said it wasn't fun, and from the answering beep, he's not the only to feel that way.

"Do you know how hard it is to get oil out of patcholi weave?" He rolls his eyes, grinning as BD-1 bounces back onto his shoulder and out of the way of the pilot's annoyance.

These emotions are his own, his memories. Breaking forth like a damn in his mind... knocking past the wall that had been solidly built around his old life. He doesn't notice the tears that trail hotly down his face, a cry bursting from his chest.

"BD, wait--"

She's a moment too late to stop him, and she reaches out to steady Cal while the echo takes hold. It isn't how she'd wanted to do this, not yet -- but at least the memories that BD holds are happy ones. She hopes. In the two years since Cal Kestis had very publicly died, she's kept the droid with her as often as she dares, being perhaps overly careful to keep him from the worst dangers and the worst of her own grief. She couldn't bear for Cal to absorb any of that now, not when he's been through whatever unimaginable hell it had taken to bury Cal beneath the mask of the nameless Inquisitor.

She wants nothing so much as to hold him when the first tears fall; his cry tears at her until she's near to tears herself. She forces herself to caution, wills herself just a little more composure. He's almost there. He's almost home. She settles for keeping a hand on his shoulder as a physical anchor to lead him back to now.

"It's all right. You are safe with me now."

It's strange how things slide back into place. Gaps there are still, but he is both Cal and not any longer - the last two years had happened with painful certainty, evidence written all over his body and mind. But beyond that he had a life and a family. Of course he did, he'd never questioned it otherwise because he'd never been allowed to even consider the possibility of his past. The Inquisition had created him, and that was all he ever needed to know.

The woman -- her name is Merrin, there are gaps where she is concerned but the feelings for her are present even if he couldn't tell her or anyone how they'd met or if they were anything more than friends. BD-1 is the droid he'd met that fateful day on Bogano, he'd been with him every step of the way.

He slumps forward, even with her support, vision slightly greyed out around the edges as he continues to wrestle with his emotions. His chest feels tight, making it difficult to draw a full breath - were Grand or Vader present he would spend a week in solitary for this weakness but they're not. He'd feel if they were.

"I'm so sorry..."

Cal.

Her relief is so great that for a moment she forgets all else and pulls him into a fierce, awkward hug that mirrors the first time she'd done the same in that she forgets for a moment that his hands are bound and they're both bruised, singed and filthy from the fight that had brought them here.

She realizes her mistake instantly, when her arm screams at her where it had been grazed by his saber blade, and releases him with a short hiss.

"Do not apologize to me for what was done to you," she says sternly, though her voice shakes with pure emotional overwhelm as she sets about releasing him from his restraints. As soon as his hands are free, she clasps both of them in her own and speaks again through tears she cannot quite stop from falling.

"I saw you die. I felt you die. It is not an excuse, but I never would have given up on you if I thought there was a chance you lived. I am sorry I did not find you sooner."

He freezes slightly under the hug, wincing as the movement upsets what's likely a few bruised, possibly broken ribs from hitting the ground. His breath hitches on another sob but he can't bring himself to meet her eyes.

Everything that he's done... he'd been so lost, for what seems like a century. Had she really managed to find him and drag him out of the hell that had been his existence?

Cal shakes his head. "Not your fault. T--they were convincing." He swallows past the bile rising in his throat.

A beat.

"Is this any of this real... ?" Panic and fear threatens to take hold as he grasps her hands - looking around as if he expects it all to disappear, to be surrounded by metal walls and horrible equipment. And that dark shadow of a man, always there. The Grand Inquisitor could be awful, but he had nothing on Lord Vader, who'd watch so impassively - barely ever moved by his struggles or screams. The torture, the loneliness. It had been hell. "I don't want to go back there, please don't let them take me again..."

dathomirs | for all the ghosts that are never gonna catch me

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