Regis stared down the barrel of the blaster rifle, the sight of the weapon that would end his life made all the more galling because the red, horned Devaronian was smiling as he aimed down the length of it. The alien pulled the trigger, and Regis immediately felt his consciousness flooded with a shock beyond panic, a sort of white-hot understanding that he would be sucked out of the universe and eradicated at the hands of an inhuman monster. The moment of his death stretched out into a tortured, timeless snapshot.

He came to his senses when he realized the blaster bolt was taking an awfully long time to come out of the rifle. The Devaronian screwed up his brow and examined the rifle. Though it was beyond rational understanding, he remembered aiming at the black-clad Jedi a few minutes ago, and how the Jedi had been able to push his blaster rifle back with enough force to whack him in the head with his own gun.

"That damn Jedi," the Devaronian muttered. "He messed up my gun!"

Regis laughed with the release of tension, shifting his weight so that he could bring his own rifle to bear. "Well pal, sorry about your lu-"

The big Devaronian crashed into Regis with unbelievable ferocity, knocking his rifle aside, then slapping Regis with enough force to knock him against the side of the cockpit. Knocked senseless, Regis raised his arms to defend himself, only to have the alien slam his knee into his groin, doubling him over. As stars swam in his blurred vision, he had only a moment to reflect upon the unfairness of his situation.

Still, he knew his friends were counting on him. Despite being unable to draw in air, Regis lashed out with a right hook. With preternatural reflexes the Devaronian hooked one arm around the pitiful blow, then grasped his belt with his free hand and threw him out of the cramped cockpit. Regis's stomach lurched as he landed on his head, then slid into the hallway in a heap.

"You don't have to be sorry," the Devaronian said as he made his way toward Regis, stretching his neck and shoulders. "When I was in prison, I used to get my workout twisting guys like you into a knot. It was an Imperial prison, by the way."

"That's a... real shame!" Regis managed, finally drawing in air but regretting it as a stabbing pain lashed his ribs. He rose onto his knees and elbows, but was not sure if he could do any better.

"You had me in there with Wookiees!" the Devaronian shouted, smashing his foot into Regis's side, throwing him onto his back and knocking him senseless once again. "It's not just their aggression, or how bad they smell," the Cheka continued. "You have any idea how negative they are? Just, in general? Yeah, everybody talks about how tough they are - but those hairy beasts try to get into your head and beat you down before they ever make a move!"

Regis forced himself backward on his elbows, consoling himself with the idea that being beaten to death was no worse than listening to the alien's hard luck story. "Let me... guess..." said Regis, spitting inside his mask as he fought for air. "When those Wookiees showed up... I bet you shut your mouth and... and stood at attention like a good boy... didn't you?"

"Really funny." The Devaronian's face twisted into a snarl of hatred. He bent and picked Regis up by his armpits, his fingers digging in like steel rebar. "I'm going to have a great time with you, funny guy."

* * *

Though their teammate had stopped communicating with them, the two Cheka hiding in the shadow of the Righteous could hear the sustained impacts of their Devaronian teammate throwing the intruder around.

"Time to make our way inside," said the Dressellian. "We're down too many men, nothing more we can do to-"

Just as the other Cheka nodded in agreement, he fell over as if his soul had suddenly departed. As the report of a sniper bolt rang throughout the mud bowl, the Dressellian's gaze snapped to a stormtrooper lying at the very top of the mound of garbage. He clearly saw the stormtrooper pull his head back from the scope, as if surprised he had made the shot. As the stormtrooper put his helmet back to the scope, the Dressellian turned and ran, slipping in the mud before flinging himself behind the boarding ramp.

"Hey!" he shouted into the comm. "Nice job taking out that sniper!"

He waited, then one of the Y-Wing pilots responded, saying, "Repeat that, ground team."

"I said that sniper's still out there! He's on the scrap pile! Quit messing around and do your job!"

The pilot did not bother to respond, but the Cheka was satisfied when he heard the Y-Wing engines howling as they accelerated. He watched in fascination as they banked hard, preparing for another attack run. He prepared to scramble around the boarding ramp and make his way up into the ship when he caught the telltale squelch of mud behind him. He whirled and saw a stormtrooper with a blaster pistol leveled at his head.

"I never was much for sneaking!" Sindo said as she pulled the trigger.

The inside of the Cheka's mask erupted in a blaze of light before his head flopped on the ground, smoking from the blaster bolt's impact.

* * *

Vasili felt a bolt of alarm race up his spine as the Y-Wings roared to life. He got up as best he could with his leg acting up, then chanced a look at the Y-Wings banking.

"Sure would be nice to have some air support!" he shouted. "Hey guys, remember when we had-"

As he prepared to slide down from his perch, his robot leg seized up. He knew he had been pushing it, and as he perched awkwardly on his tip-toes, he decided that his mad run through the jungle followed by a rough climb up the scrap pile had proven too much for his discount limb. He danced back and forth, waving his arms, his stomach doing flips as he fixed his gaze on the long, jagged incline of sharp metal and plastic junk.

The steady roar of the Y-Wings grew into an electric bellow of rage, and in a blind, dumb panic Vasili threw himself down the slope. He rolled and tried to control his descent, but holding onto a long blaster rifle with his robot leg sticking out straight, he could only slide and roll and flip, at the mercy of one hard impact after another. Then the mountain of scrap shuddered as the Y-Wings unloaded on it.

* * *

The Devaronian slammed Regis's head into the wall, finally shattering the black death trooper helmet after so many attempts. Regis slid down the wall, his vision blurred, unable to hear, his battered brain only wondering why his sweaty face suddenly felt cold.

The Devaronian leaned against the wall, taking in deep breaths. "There you are!" he said. "A handsome man. But now I... wooh! Just give me a minute..."

Regis drifted off for a moment, then woke up coughing. He sniffed as blood ran freely down his nose. He glanced up at the Devaronian, idly wondering why the wall looked as if it had been beaten with a sledgehammer.

The Devaronian withdrew a short vibroblade where it was sheathed at his side. "I think it's about time we got a lesson in human anatomy. Don't worry, this shouldn't-"

The Devaronian jerked his head aside, his dark eyes wide with alarm. Following his gaze, Regis saw a female stormtrooper standing with her blaster pistol held in both hands.

"Get away from my commanding officer, you freak!" Sindo shouted, firing over and over. Hardly aware of what was happening, Regis was fascinated by the crimson glow reflecting off Sindo's white armor. Then the floor shook under the impact of the giant alien's body, and Regis gripped his side, alarmed at the disturbance.

His gaze followed Sindo's helmet as it dropped on the floor, then he rested his eyes. He felt a soft glove touch his face. "Sergeant! Sergeant! Are you okay?" said a warm, velvet voice.

Regis forced open his eyes, his gaze lingering on Sindo's face, the dim cabin lights reflecting from her smooth cheeks. Though she was wet with sweat, her fiery hair plastered on one side of her head, the concern in her eyes made her look like an angel. She spoke, but he heard nothing, drifting mercifully into darkness.

* * *

As Luke staggered regaining his footing and Lucitor Reo slipped in mud, the scrap pile erupted in a blaze of plasma energy, the force of the blast casting scrap metal skyward as the Y-Wings tore across the mud bowl. Luke tried to calm his mind once more, but his awareness was worn so ragged that he knew there was no way he could diffuse the blade of Reo's lightsaber one more time. As the strange Jedi prepared to attack once again, Luke noticed the Cheka freighter's rear exhaust ports flaring to life. Since the mud bowl was littered with dead Cheka and his teammates were nowhere to be seen, Luke did not need to reach out with the Force to know that it was time to end this fight.

Lucitor Reo dashed forward with a surprising burst of energy. Again Luke mastered his fear and stepped toward his foe. Sensing that Reo would suddenly step back as he swung, Luke pushed himself, rocketing forward in the wet mud. Reo's eyes widened in alarm as Luke grasped the Lucitor's wrist, touched the Jedi's side with his free hand in order to distract him, then turned himself with enough force to send Reo spinning aside.

Still Reo somehow managed to retain his balance. He turned, ready to drive his blade into Luke's chest despite his orders - then realized he no longer held his lightsaber. In disbelief he glared at Luke, who now held the lightsaber, examining the golden blade. Reo's heart thundered, afraid that he would be murdered in this hellish place.

"Cheka!" he shouted, despite seeing only dead bodies in blue armor. "Cheka! Please, help me!"

Luke deactivated the golden lightsaber, then held it out in one hand, as if offering it. As Reo flung out an arm to draw it back to himself, Luke's gloved hand whipped out like a viper - then Reo's head rocketed backward, his throat suddenly clamped in an invisible vice.

Luke studied the hybrid's misshapen face, watching how his eyes darted left and right, no doubt wondering how the Empress's most powerful Jedi could be so easily Force-choked; no Jedi should be able to brush off another Jedi's defenses so long after being seemingly spent. As Reo's face went from red to dark purple, his eyes settled on Luke - then Luke saw terror written in his mutilated face. At first confused, Luke realized that his own face was contorted with rage, a demonic, dark force snaking its way in through the edges of his mind. He realized then that he wanted to kill the Lucitor. He wanted to take the arrogant, preening, pretentious bully, and make him suffer. To crush his pride in his last moment, and then snuff out his life so that the last thing he would experience would be-

"No," said Luke, suddenly releasing the Lucitor. Reo gasped for air as he fell back, his body smacking into the mud with a sharp splat. Luke breathed deeply, forcing himself to be calm, at peace even as metal scrap rained down all around him. He wrapped his hand around the hilt of the lightsaber, concentrated, then shattered it. He pocketed the kyber crystal before turning toward the Righteous.

"Luke! Help me, please!"

Luke turned and saw Vasili lying in the rubble at the foot of the hill of scrap. He had pulled off his helmet to breathe. Seeing him barely able to lift his head, Luke was struck by other memories of stormtroopers lying bloodied and beaten. Though the images were distasteful, the memories themselves were not unpleasant. He hesitated.

"Luke, please!" said Vasili. "I... I can't..."

Luke ran to him. Without a word he lifted the man, who clung to his heavy rifle with one arm bent like a hook. His breathing was ragged. In the distance, Artoo turned in circles before the freighter's boarding ramp, beeping excitedly. Though Luke had planned on running to the ship with all haste, instead he dragged the wounded stormtrooper who leaned on him for support.