-- 27 Years prior to the Attack on the Jedi Temple….Corellia, Undisclosed Training Location…Project Alpha….

--

>TS-27>>

>

<<…Its amazing really, how very fast they grow. Only yesterday it seems we were starting our protocols, now we truly have the makings of a very powerful weapon.

Problems: As ‘Mrysti’s’ physical prowess increases due to the protocol implementation, so does her ability to use the Force. In contrast, and as the control subject; Specimen 002 ‘Karolin’ is showing an unusual amount of symbiosis. Her ability to use the Force has increased tenfold, all scientifically explained of course.

Specimen 003 is still very much withdrawn; she only seems compelled to interact during training and even then it’s with targets or drones. We have caught her several times talking to the instructional aides as if they were actually able to respond. It was almost as if she is talking to herself in some cases. Discussing different scenarios, even things as mundane as the weather outside. All of this to control her mind and the forces which wage a constant war inside of her. And this war has two opposing factions; One is her psyche. The other is her physical body.

Implementing pain inhibitors was a requirement at this stage. Not only because of the massive growth; which coincidentally causes the subject intense pain, but also because it was necessary to keep her mind; which is already unstable, from simply crumbling. I have instituted a weekly sit down with our psychological department as well as encouraging the Jedi Matrons to interact with her more closely. We are starting to see her bond extend beyond her sister as she attaches herself to the other subjects in the pod. Specimen 001 is now almost as close to her as her sister. And we have seen significant improvement in the relationships between herself and 004 and 005.

…On a personal note: I am not sure if having 002 as a control subject for ‘Mrysti’ is going to be feasible much longer. At age eight, she is already almost as tall as a typical human female, much larger than her sister and most of her pod mates. Her appearance has also changed dramatically when compared to that of her sister. She is much more ‘rugged’ looking, more ‘adult’, even at her age…if that is an appropriate term at this point. I have ordered a decrease in the male hormone which is part of the growth cocktail. Perhaps we are pushing too fast. Monitoring will increase to 28 hour surveillance for the next month as we assess her continued development…

The last note I would like to make. I’m not one to believe in mysticism or the Force. We have proven as scientists that it is nothing more than a psychological/physical manipulation of any one of the three states of environment in an individual. Aided by an individual’s level of the symbiosis of Midichlorians. BUT…I am getting a strange ‘feeling’ around Mrysti. Not just Mrysti, but her sister as well. Were they not orphans and already part of the program, I would have terminated their involuntary participation. We have no knowledge of their backgrounds or where they came from other than where they were found. There is something elusively, ‘evil’….no that may be the wrong word. Off….just off, about the two of them. I will continue to add my supplements at the end.>>

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Korriban Station – Imperial Space; shortly after the collision with the asteroid...

Waking to a grey, white ceiling Hamner looked up at the overhead lights that slowly came into focus. As he began to regain consciousness, he heard the clatter of armor from the side of the room and turned his head slowly to see a Sith Warrior rise from a seat flanked by two Imperial Soldiers.

“That was quite an accident, Jedi. Never, during my time on this Station have I seen anything quite like it. Were you deliberately trying to kill yourself and your lady friend?” The Sith smiled wickedly as he looked Hamner over. Getting up off the seat he was perched on, the Sith walked over to the monitor and looked at it. “Were we not so perplexed by the mere fact of your attempted suicide, we would have simply left you to die….as well as the young woman you were with. But…” The Sith looked back and smiled. Stark pointed white teeth stood in contrast to the deep red of his skin. “…perhaps you were trying to run. There was a ship following. It broke off once you entered our area.” The Sith adjusted a monitor and turned around fully. “There are those of us assigned to this station who’ve started a pool. I say you were carrying vital information. And were attempting to reach us in order to betray the Republic. There are others not so imaginative….” He laughed, looking back to the chart and turning around again. Attempting to sit up, the Sith turned back quickly placing a hand over Hamner forcing back to the bed. “No…you’re not going anywhere. You’re in no condition…besides we need some answers. There’s also the betting pool. I absolutely must know why you tried to kill yourself. But rest…we will talk later. Neither you or I are going anywhere.” Hamner began to recollect the Sith’s words as his mind began to gain clarity. Time, how long was he out? And Mrysti, where was she?

“How long…” Hamner uttered. Noticing his mouth and throat were so dry it had to be a significant amount of time. The words came out raspy and garbled.

“Oh, quite a while. We had not even fully finished our conquest of this sector when we tracked your ship entering. The station had only been captured a week or so prior.” The Sith smiled another toothy grin. “At least you knew where we were. Another reason we didn't destroy you. No doubt the blackout imposed on the station is no longer of any use. The Republic knows about us now.” Hamner tried to sit up again and failed. “Whoa. Take it easy Jedi. Push yourself and you rob us of the opportunity to ‘extract’ a little information later.”

M-my Sister? Where is she…is she alright?” The Sith’s eyes went up slightly at the revelation. A Zabrak and a Mirialan claiming to be Brother and Sister? His face twisted in confusion, then sadness.

“She’s suffered a severe head trauma. We tried everything at our disposal…unfortunately, she’s brain dead. As superior as the Republic facilities are here. Not even they could restore her to full function. She's not likely to survive.” Hamner laid back down forcefully, his hand slapping down on the bed angrily. He had come all the way only to kill his Sister in the attempt. “You were both Jedi—” Beginning to ask the question the holo-comm attached to the wall chimed interrupting the Sith. Moving off to answer, the conversation was muffled. With the black armored Sith nodding and answering the person on the other end. Taking a moment to look back at Hamner, he turned back slowly after murmuring a few more words to the person on the other end. “That was the trauma ward. I’m afraid she has expired. Sorry, friend…” Another toothy grin before the Sith approached again, “...now about those questions…” Sitting down, the Sith activated a stylus connected to the wrist mounted unit he wore on his black armored gauntlets. “…I have been instructed by my superiors to ask about the Jedi Temple. We have detailed information, but it never hurts to get a fresh perspective….”

--

Work continued on the surface of Korriban. The Sith having reclaimed their ancient burial and training grounds; personnel moved from their fleet to the station and back to the surface of the planet in a never ending cycle. More plans were afoot. Something big involving the fleet, captured Republic equipment and armaments. Everyone in the Sith fleet was fully tasked with something, but not all were involved in the upcoming action. Some of the Sith didn’t even know about it. Secrecy, on the eve of such a significant operation, was paramount.

The large group of instructors, Dark Lords and minor Taskmasters disembarked from the shuttle returning from the Sith Academy. Most were part of the archeological expeditions sent to locate artifacts deemed vital by the Emperor. Others were getting the Academy back into operation and reconstructing things in accordance with assigned tasks. The Taskmasters being given the ugly duty of cleaning out the academy and ridding it of the last vestiges of Republic control. There would be students. Soon. Either transferred from Ziost or Dromand Kaas. Students who would get the privilege of learning the Dark Arts close to the power of the Valley of the Dark Lords. A valley that was already taking a toll on some of the expeditions.

Grumbling, the Taskmaster assigned to structure and logistics; moved with a slow gait. His duty having taken him out past the back of the Academy into the underground passages and back into the wilds of Korriban. He spent a great deal of time out there by himself. Content NOT to follow his directives. Already promoted as high as he was going to make it within the Sith Empire, Korriban was his last stop before retirement. After seeing Korriban and having to endure the oppressive lash of the Darths and other Dark Lords assigned over him; he was content to do only as much as was required. Spending the rest of his time constructing a hide-away to escape the rigors of the Academy. There were many such culverts and caves in the wilds. Carved out by the dust and winds of Korriban, which over centuries carved the landscape as it saw fit. Rock and mountainous desert not enough to stop the planet from carving out a path for itself.

After getting a bite in the mess facility; blood and blaster burns still marred the walls, the Taskmaster took a leisurely stroll around the outer ring of the station. Taking a moment to stop by the infirmary. Hands chaffed and dry from the constant building and use of tools in the reconstruction on the planet’s surface caused the Taskmaster to cut them open. Passing by, he thought to get a scan. Perhaps some of the last of the Republic’s Kolto stores. The Empire’s reserve was being kept within the fleet. All of the resources the Empire had, being kept in space in anticipation of something else happening. He knew it was an operation, all of them did. But no one was allowed to speak of it.

There was a bit of unruly activity in the infirmary. Several of the medics were busy handing out Imperial Credits to several Dark Lords who stood over them. The medics had a look of defeat. The Dark Lords smiling broadly as the Taskmaster stepped inside.

“…eighty-five, ninety…you still owe me ten, Medic. And I will expect those last few AFTER we return.”

“IF we return…” Another Dark Lord elbowed his compatriot who was getting paid by the Medics for something. A bet. The Taskmaster sat down at one of the booths and rolled up his sleeves, continuing to listen.

“My Lord…you will have it. Just as soon as I have it.” The Medic looked back into the room behind them all. A circular trauma ward. Cordoned off by walls and glass. Inside, a single individual lay under a sheet. Another medic was just pulling the sheet over the individual in the ward. “It was a stupid bet anyway. No way was she going to survive. We basically put her back together like a puzzle…” The Medic made a face, sticking his tongue out in disgust. “..head all cracked open. Brains spilling out. It’s a wonder she survived to get to us.”

“Jedi…” The Dark Lord was just pocketing his credits, looking into the ward beyond.

“Yes, should tell you something about what we will have to face next we—” As the other Dark Lord began to speak, he received a harsh rebuke in the form of another elbow from the first Dark Lord. He quickly fell silent. “At any rate…we will expect our credits when we return.” They both nodded curtly, marching from the room. Their eyes glaring at the Taskmaster before they made it through the door. One stopping slightly to give a condescending look to the aging Taskmaster.

Both medics were in the trauma ward. One joining the other; unplugging machines and preparing the body for disposal. The first medic who paid the Dark Lords emerged, noticing the Taskmaster was sitting there.

“Ah…My Lord, I suppose you’re here for some Kolto?” The Medic looked down at the hands, sleeves rolled up. He sat down in the booth opposite of the Taskmaster and turned on a suppressor field between them. The sterilization ray beaming down; the medic took the Taskmaster's arms and rotated them back and forth under the light. “Looks pretty bad. But I’m afraid the last of the Republic Kolto was used up. I can give you some antibiotic ointment. Won’t do any thing for the pain, but it will stop any of the open wounds from getting infected.”

Grumbling, the Taskmaster stood and started rolling down his sleeves. “Forget it, I can get that same ointment at the infirmary in the Acad—”

>

“Again!!” The other medic in the trauma ward rushed out, snatching up a bag on his way to the door. The stations klaxon alarm a normal sound during the first few weeks of the takeover. Regular injuries and casualties were constantly rolling in. Moving away from the booth, the other Medic looked up the direction of the internal speaker and rushed from the room following his partner.

“Must be more recovery teams. Don’t they realize, we don’t have treatments for demonic possession….”

Leaving the Taskmaster alone in the infirmary, the old man looked around. His eyes going to the trauma room curiously. On the inside, the body lay under a sheet. Getting closer he noticed curves making the sheet bulge, caressing the corpse underneath.

Peeling back the sheet, the Taskmaster smiled wickedly. A woman, once a beautiful woman. He could see it despite all of the patchwork and stitching which the medics had done to put her back together. Dark ruby red hair framed the stitched and tattooed green face. ‘A Mirialan’, the Taskmaster thought, pulling the sheet up further to look at her naked form. Lines of medical stitching and surgical glue marred the once flawless skin. She was strong, even relaxed in death the Taskmaster could see the hard lines of muscle. The lean and physical prowess of the once able Jedi.

Slowly, the Taskmaster ran his finger up the naked leg of the green woman. Images of things he could do. Pictures of the two of them together played in his mind. The Mirialan’s beauty was intoxicating, even after the medical droids put her head and face back together. Though the Taskmaster attributed much of his imagining to the mundane work he was made to do. He could only imagine what she must have looked like before the accident. Scars ran the length of her face and over her scalp from the repair droid's work, metal showed in places where prosthesis were used to replace shattered bone and cartledge. It was a pity that she was dead. His mind continued to race at the many pleasures and deplorable acts he could commit on her. Laying his hand on her forehead, he spoke softly.

“It was not meant to be my love…perhaps in the next life…” The Force reached out to him like a snake biting a hand that had been forced down its hole. All at once the Taskmaster felt her power, he felt her fighting to survive. It was intriguing, the woman…a powerful Force user. The power that bit him was pure light; a Jedi, all but dead. Still fighting.

Looking around, the Taskmaster turned his head sharply toward the door surveying the rest of the room. The medics were still gone. The infirmary still deserted. Making a quick decision, the Taskmaster covered her face with the sheet and began pushing her from the room. A wicked smile coming back to his face again. He knew, he had to have her. Get another taste of her power, her beauty. All of it could be his. A great distraction to an otherwise mundane set of circumstances. Korriban wouldn’t be as dull.

Thinking on the greatness of the plan, even as he pushed and continued to hatch it. The Mirialan would never be missed. They were preparing her body for the incinerator. Stopping at the door, the Taskmaster pulled the gurney to a stop and quickly typed something into the spinning holo-status which spun in the ions at the head of the door. Erasing the entry.

>

Grabbing the gurney, he pushed it out of the infirmary and quickly started toward the docking bay he arrived in. Turning with the bed toward the Cargo Bay, no one gave the Taskmaster a second glance. Just another Sith pushing cargo of some sort. As he made the Bay area, he started formulating plans. Where he would hide her. How he would be able to control her. To him it didn’t matter, just that he now had his very own Jedi slave.

Getting the bed up on the ramp and pushing it into the Cargo Hold, he locked it in place. Hopefully she wouldn’t come to before he had constructed everything. There would have to be a new torture chamber constructed and a ‘quarters’ for his prize. Shrugging, he moved to the bridge of the ship. Looking out at the chaos which was ensuing in the bay below. Medics were scrambling. Injured and insane men were stumbling from a shuttle into the open arms of the medical teams and waiting guards.

Starting up the ship, he sent a clearance to move out of the bay and back toward Korriban. In the chaos, it was granted immediately. The station too occupied to really care if another shuttle was leaving as so many were coming in. The Taskmaster didn’t know what catastrophe had befallen the excavation teams in the surface. And he didn’t care. Looking over his shoulder at his prize once the shuttle softly lifted from the bay and made open space. These were all small matters. The questions, all small matters. He had the place, the materials and everything he needed. Now he had someone to ‘share’ it all with

--.

Years Later...Undisclosed Location, Korriban...

With eyes as round as saucers, the Taskmaster bent around the rack to look at Mrysti. “You dare speak to me? You dare to utter a word, in my presence?” Gesturing, he motioned for her to stand. “Keep your back to me and remove what’s left of that….robe.” His words were disdainful as he referred to the Jedi garment. Mrysti did as she was instructed, slowly untying the front of the robe and allowing it to drop the rest of the way down her legs. Blood began running down her back and over the new burn she prominently displayed in the small of it. Taking a moment to just look at her, the Taskmaster smiled. Reaching out to touch the mark he so proudly burned into her. Blood caking his fingers as he did so. Bringing the finger back to his lips, he licked the gore from it releasing a pleasurable sound. “Oh…you are so sweet. As always, you taste delicious to me.” Pushing on her slightly, he gestured with his other hand.

Once again, Mrysti knew what she was supposed to do. Another wicked smile crossing her lips as she climbed onto the rack. Laying her legs in the proper position already worn where she had so many times been spread onto the wood. Reaching up and placing her hands in the other position. With her face pointed down, Mrysti looked at the pool under her. A dangerous smile forming from all the attention she was getting.

Feeling her Master latch her ankles, Mrysti sensed his movement toward her face. Instinctively she turned her head away from him as he very violently latched her hands to the wood. Moving off to the side the Taskmaster kicked the lever control, pulling her appendages further apart. Leaving her in a position resembling an ‘X’…she started her own heavy breathing.

This was the part she always looked forward to. It was unfortunate that she never got enough of what her Master tried to give her. Far too often he tired or simply couldn’t finish. On several occasions, he tired himself to the point of just simply falling asleep on her. It was those times that Mrysti wished she had a free hand to kill her Master for failing to please her. Her hunger was endless, the man had no idea how much she craved or needed to be satisfied. In their many excursions together…Mrysti had never reached her limit.

Mrysti bit into her bottom lip as the room went silent. Try as she might, even with the Force she could never tell what he was doing. Only sensing his heartbeat. His anger, rage or lust rising. Violently, the dancer bottoms were ripped from her body. She stopped breathing a moment, allowing for her own anticipation to build.

The Master had gotten her worked up. Beating, torturing; making her wait. Burning her, that was new. The feeling so intense and tingly. Mrysti sucked in a breath and held it. The rack creaked under her weight as she pushed off slightly. The latches to her wrists and ankles groaning against the strain. The Taskmaster stopped and looked down. Checking the bindings. She was much stronger than she realized. A pang of fear shooting through him.

At nearly seven feet tall and pure iron muscle, the Taskmaster knew if she ever got a sense of herself it would be trouble for him. All he had was psychological control. Control over her environment. It was enough. For now. Mrysti relaxed. The Taskmaster stepping back up and behind her. Removing his robe. A soft sound emanated from the Mirialan in anticipation. The Taskmaster was going to have to work for it. Her power was growing, her hunger growing…there was never enough pleasure or pain for her.

Little did the Taskmaster know, he was creating a storm in her he could not control and sooner rather than later the dam would burst, consuming him. For the moment, Mrysti waited in anticipation as she heard the ‘clap-clap’ of metal on metal. The Master was playing with toys again. The metallic sound got closer. Mrysti hung her head low through the opening on the rack looking down. An evil grin growing on her face. It was going to be a long night. One she absolutely looked forward to.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t disappoint this time.