The Vertical City. Nar Shaddaa. They call it the Smuggler's Moon—an apt description based on the myriad of sentients shuffling back and forth with their illegal wares and hidden weapons. The narrow streets below you criss-cross endlessly, soaring miles above the planet's surface. Exposed and uncovered, the streets offer a nearly perfect setting for someone with some skills with ranged weapons. Your own vantage point, standing on the ledge of a towering structure of glass and steel, offers you a dizzying view of the cityscape.

Your eyes scan the distance for enemies. Snipers could be set up in almost every building. The streets are plagued with violent gangs and the general riff raff of the poor and destitute. The streets may be an ideal place for blasters, but the winding streets are difficult to disappear from. An opponent would be easily boxed in and simple to finish with a few quick slashes of a lightsaber. The moon is dangerous—even for a Jedi.

“Karkin’ rain,” Turel whispered as he felt nearly every drop of the damnable downpour falling over his raincoat. Thankfully he wore rainproof clothes underneath, but still, he couldn’t help but feel annoyance at the slow drizzle of liquid tumbling down his exposed nose.

The Sentinel looked sideways, at the former occupant of his lovely nest high up in the Nar Shaddaan cityscape. The Rodian was out cold, a sleeping dart protruding from the back of his neck. For once, Turel admired the simple yet effective gadget he carried on his bracer. Quick and quiet. He smirked and shouldered the sniper rifle the Rodian had been using until several minutes ago. The multi-spectral optics gave him a clear view of the streets and landing pads below; the perfect vantage point to find his target.

Valenthyne Kurst was a non-Force user and Inquisitor in the employ of the Grand Master and his cronies. For all intents and purposes, he was Turel’s enemy, and the Proconsul had been looking for him even before New Tython’s summary destruction. The dire situation made the Inquisitor a prime target for the Sentinel network, and Turel.

He had heard Valenthyne was on Nar Shaddaa, meeting with one of the gang bosses to acquire something called simply “the box.” What that was, and what Valenthyne intended to do with it, were Turel’s objectives. The Human’s scoped gaze snapped from one landing pad to the next, observing the rain-covered freighters and shuttle littering the skyline. His attention moved to an incoming shuttle that slowed and landed on an unclaimed landing pad covered from the rain just two buildings away and twenty stories down.

As the Nu-class shuttle coughed and sputtered to a halt with an audible squeal from its hydraulics and aged machinery, the front boarding hatch nearly dropped open before the dampeners kicked in and lowered it softly. Turel scanned the entrance to the landing pad and found his gangster boss waiting with several goons. As his gaze returned to the shuttle, he saw several unruly individuals walk out of the ramp, followed closely by a woman..

Turel nearly choked on his own saliva as his sniper scope fell on a very familiar raven-haired woman standing opposite the gang boss. His sister seemed to smirk as she pulled her blaster and shot the boss squarely between the eyes, while her goons leveled their weapons with the rest of his company. Smoke and light followed as they fell dead one by one. Morgan barked several orders and six more well-armed individuals rushed from the shuttle into the building.

Turel felt a tingle run down his spine, the feeling he always got when something bad was about to happen. The Jedi picked himself up and rushed across the rooftop, searching for a way down.

---

She lit her second cigarra, leaned on the side of the shuttle and let out a long trail of smoke. The blaster fire coming from inside the building grew dimmer and dimmer as her crew, hardened thugs and bastards all, advanced further inside. Only one of them stayed behind, the pilot, in case they had to make a quick get-away.

She exhaled a smoke-ring just before the cigarra fell from her fingers. She sensed him even before he jumped onto the platform, but it was still a shock to see her brother, soaked from head to toe and silhouetted by the city’s lights, standing only ten meters away, staring her down. She felt stunned, but only for a moment before composing herself.

“Boss, we have five more—” the pilot began but was cut off as the boarding ramp closed, its mechanism gently persuaded by the pirate’s Force-fueled touch.

“Stay inside,” she gave a clear order, one the pilot was used to following without question.

She was distressed, uncertain and no less frightened of what would happen now, and Turel could sense it. She was his sister, after all, and he knew her better than anyone else in the galaxy. But he also felt something more; a determination she hid very well, but not perfectly.

“What’re you doing here, Turel?” she asked evenly. A good liar knew how to mask his voice, and Morgan was better than good. But she could hardly fool her brother. He’d caught her by surprise, and now she was looking for a way out.

“I came expecting to find one of the Inquisitorius rats, but instead I find you. I think I’m the one who should be asking the questions here, dear sister.” The words seemed to slide from the Human’s mouth much like the rain still dripping from his coat. They were flat, at first, but as he finished the sentence his pitch seemed to waver. He too was distressed, and clearly out of sorts.

Morgan bit her tongue and her eye twitched at the sudden rush of pain. She needed the focus, the center. She cracked her neck once and found herself pacing to loosen up the shakes in her aching nerves.

“You should leave, Turel. You’ll only get hurt here,” she said as flatly as her voice allowed her.

“Or what? You’ll hurt me? Or your goons?” Turel paced several steps towards her. Morgan put her hand on her blaster almost instantly, making him stop. “You’re gonna shoot me now, Applejack?”

“I told you a million time, stop calling me that. This isn’t a karkin’ game any more, and we’re not kids playin’ under our mother’s dress.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” he asked firmly, flaring his nostrils in irritation. It was only then that it hit him; the realization that his sister stood on the opposite side of the field, ready to draw her pistol should he do anything aggressive. He couldn’t tell if it was a bluff, but he didn’t care. Turel took another step forwards only to be met by a blaster bolt before his feet.

“I said, leave!” the raven-haired woman seemed to flow in the Force, her mental attack slamming against his resolute barrier. He felt a tinge of uncertainty, which further deepened his doubt. He paused then, tight and wound up like a string ready to pop.

“Where were you?” he asked, flaring his nostrils again and tightening his lips. He was on the edge and Morgan could tell. “Where were you when that lunatic you serve destroyed New Tython? Do you even have any idea how this feels?” He put one foot in front of the other again. “My home gets destroyed and I learn my sister serves the man responsible? Worse, she’s on the Dark Council!”

A mixture of pain and disgust passed Morgan’s features for only a moment before she composed herself again. “I got nothin’ to say to you. I’ll tell you one last time: leave, or I start shooting further north.”

“I’m not going anywhere until you give me an answer.”

“And I ain’t givin’ you kark.” Morgan leveled her blaster with Turel’s chest and pulled the trigger. Turel rolled to the side just as the bolt exited the barrel and flew harmlessly past him. He took out his lightsaber and ignited it in one swift motion, deflecting an incoming bolt.

Morgan fired several more bolts wide of her target as she advanced . Her focus wasn’t so much on Turel as her surroundings. She hadn’t considered a fight to happen here and all the cover she or her brother had were several large cargo containers and crates, excluding the shuttle. She ducked behind a crate and released another barrage at Turel, now finding cover behind one of the larger containers. She had five minutes to force Turel to leave, or her crew would be back and he’d get seriously hurt.

Just get out of here, sleemo, she thought as she peered out of her cover to release another volley.

The unmistakable roar of blaster fire gave way to the ambient sound of rainfall and the hissing of droplets hitting Turel’s blazing saber. For a moment, the Jedi’s mind raced as he crouched behind a durasteel crate. The stark reality of his sister actually sending aimed blaster bolts his way was difficult to process. How had it come to this? Vorsa said nothing about Morgan before collapsing into a coma. Why hadn’t she escaped with the Neti? Had she betrayed Vorsa? Was she truly under Pravus’ influence? He sensed Morgan’s confusion over his sudden appearance, but also her stubborn determination. Turel needed answers but he wasn’t likely to get them through a friendly conversation, at least not here.

Looks like we’re doing this the hard way.

To get answers, Turel would have to get Morgan alone, away from her goons. He rearmed his dart launcher with his free left hand. He only had four darts left on his person and he wasn’t sure one would be enough. Another volley of blaster fire struck the side of crate, just in case the Jedi didn’t get the message he wasn’t welcome. Time was running out.

Turel keyed up his comm link, making sure to keep his voice as low as possible. “Echo Three, this is Raven Six.”

The Jedi’s earpiece crackled with static for a moment before a feminine voice replied, “I’m in position, boss, just give the word and I’ll drop that traitorous wench.”

“Negative! Negative, Echo Three!” Turel hissed under his breath into the receiver. “Change of plans, we’re taking her in.”

“Acknowledged,” Socorro replied in a clearly disappointed tone.

A plan was taking shape in Turel’s mind. “When I engage her, I need you to disable that shuttle by any means necessary. Do you copy?” “Loud and clear, boss.” The comm link fell silent as the channel closed.

You’re coming home, Applejack, whether you want to or not, and then you’re going to tell me everything.

Turel took a deep breath, centered his focus, took up a two-handed grip on his saber and moved out from behind the crate. He hadn’t fully cleared the container before Morgan took a shot at him. She was good with a blaster, but not that good. The Jedi batted the bolt away with a smooth motion of his amethyst blade as he stood up and deliberately walked toward the center of the platform. She had caught him by surprise before, but now he was focused and could deflect blaster bolts almost indefinitely from a single source dead ahead of him. Morgan knew it and holstered her pistol.

The Herald could feel her brother’s anger surge as pulled her predecessor's saber from her belt and ignited the lava red blade. Holding Vorsa’s weapon brought a wave of emotion for her as well. She remembered the mission given to her by the Neti, the one her mentor had been willing to give her life for. Not even her brother, the only family she had left in the galaxy, could get in the way of that. Too much had been sacrificed already.

“I’m not warning you again — leave,” Morgan said coldly as the two sibling stared each other down across the platform, steam rising from the rain hitting their blazing sabers.

Seeing Morgan brandishing his wife’s lightsaber as a trophy hit Turel like a punch to the gut. For a moment his logical plan and focus fell to the wayside as raw emotion took hold of him. “You betrayed her! She believed in you, trusted you, and you sold her out, didn’t you?”

Turel’s words cut deeper than any blade could. Morgan knew he was mistaken, but she could feel his raw, bleeding pain as if it were her own. She struggled to maintain composure.

“I...did what I had to,” was all she could utter.

Before Turel could respond a rocket flew from a nearby building, striking the shuttle directly in one of its wing joints. The heavily armored shuttle remained intact but the damaged wing fell limply onto some nearby crates from its upright position. Crude, but effective. The shuttle wouldn’t be taking off anytime soon. Unfortunately, the rocket had struck on side closest to the Odanite, and the resulting shock wave from the impact had knocked him off his feet.

The Jedi’s comm link earpiece crackled to life. “Are you alright, boss?”

Turel leapt to his feet just in time to see Morgan fleeing inside the building. He keyed up the comm link. “Yes, no thanks to you. Stay in overwatch and have the rest of the team secure the ground exits. I’m going in after her.”

---

“Karking moron!” Morgan muttered to herself as she rushed through the ruins of a VIP lounge, nearly tripping over dead patrons along the way. She hadn’t expected Turel to have backup and most certainly not backup with enough firepower to ground her shuttle. Now the situation was even more complicated. She had to link up with her men, summon another extraction, and get out before more of Kurst’s allies showed up — and do it all without getting her brother killed in the process.

Her men were still clearing the floors below in their search for “the box” and had apparently left no witnesses in their wake. To say the room looked like a warzone would be an understatement; blaster marks seared the decorated walls, plush sofas still burned with small fires, broken glass littered the countertop of the bar, and several of Kurst’s men lay bleeding on the floor with their throats slit. Other gangsters were slumped over various pieces of furniture with blaster burns on their bodies, causalities of the firefight. The Herald noted with a bit of momentary pride that none of her men were among the dead, at least not on this floor.

A warning screamed at her through Force as she felt Turel’s presence behind her. Morgan dove behind the bar counter just before a slug round whizzed across the lounge.

Frak! Why won’t he leave?

Glass rained down on Morgan’s makeshift hiding place as her brother fired two more rounds in her direction, striking a few bottles of top shelf liquor. She could sense that Turel’s anger had somewhat subsided, but it had been replaced with stubborn determination.

“I’m not letting you go back to that monster,” Turel stated with an unsettling calm in his voice. “One way or another you’re coming with me and giving some answers.”

Morgan drew her blaster with one hand and readied a flashbang with the other. If she could make it to her men, he’d see he was clearly outnumbered and be forced to flee, or so she hoped.

“You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” the Herald retorted over the trashy club music still playing over the sound system.

Turel moved through the carnage, instinctively keeping close to any sort of cover, just in case. His fears proved justified as Morgan lobbed one of her grenades over the bar counter. Turel didn’t even bother to notice what kind it was; he just ducked behind one of the massive couches… but the blast never came.

A dud? he thought, only then chancing to look in front of him. One of the dead Twi’lek dancers lay prostrated before him in a less-than-dignified manner, her torso shot up by Morgan’s thugs. So far, he had been so focused on Morgan that he hadn’t bothered looking around him. With every passing moment, though, he became more and more convinced that Morgan had lost her mind.

The Sentinel raised his head, only to see his sister dashing for the far door where, he assumed, her thugs must have run through. Turel aimed his slugthrower at her back, the faces of the murdered people around him and of Vorsa flashing in his mind. Anger took over momentarily as Turel’s finger inched the trigger back with every heartbeat. His finger twitched — BANG!

---

A ping in the back of her mind was all the warning she received. Morgan moved her head on instinct, dodging a round that whizzed by her head, nearly fluttering her raven locks as it smashed into the metal door frame beyond. Her heart jumped as she rolled through the door at the last moment, followed closely by another shot.

The woman’s heartbeat raced as her mind processed the harsh reality. Up until now, she had purposefully missed every shot, more aiming to intimidate than kill. But that round was meant for her skull, not the door frame. Is he trying to kill me? Doubt crept from her skin to her bones at the realization that she might have to hurt her own brother, sooner or later, just to complete her mission. Would she really have to go that far?

*”Boss! We’s got it, boss. We’s comin’ back down.” Morgan’s comm crackled as she continued her run through another corridor into an atrium area that lead to the upper and lower floors, as well as the street outside. There were several bodies on the ground, blaster burns littering their features; the rest seemed to have fled.

“Good. Call for extraction, our shuttle's kark’d. Kurst owes me big time for this one. Make him appear yesterday, you got that? Better get down here. I’ll need backup.” Playtime was over and she had moments before her idiot brother caught up. She pulled the pin on her gas grenade and tossed it behind her as she ran outside.

---

Turel ran through the adjacent corridor Morgan had just passed through, only moments after the grenade fizzled into a thick smoke. Morgan’s favorite tactic — confuse and conquer. Was it tear gas or not? He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and thrust himself into the smoke, trusting the Force to lead his way. Only when he sensed the smoke growing thinner did he breathe in. There was no tinge of pain, or watering of the eyes. He exhaled and sensed his sister outside, seemingly waiting for him.

The doors of the building burst open as the Sentinel walked out. People were screaming and running every-which-way. He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of Morgan, holding Vorsa’s lightsaber up to a Mirialan woman’s neck. She cried as Morgan pulled on her hair to expose her neck.

“You won’t let me go, eh? How about now?” The blade shimmered ever closer to the woman’s skin. “Take a hike, or this one dies right here and now.”

Turel frowned as he sensed the woman was real and not a figment of his sister’s trickery. “You won’t do that, Applejack. I know you better than that.”

“That so?” Morgan’s lightsaber lowered ever so slowly on the woman's shoulder, scorching cloth and skin into a charred mess. The Mirialan screamed through tears as the blade burned her flesh and filled her nostrils with a sickening smell. Please go, Morgan thought, hoping that this display of madness would make him leave.

“STOP!” Turel yelped as Morgan retreated the blade from the woman’s shoulder. For the first time in a long time, Morgan saw him lose his composure. There was a mixture of shock at what he’d seen; of pain at what his sister had become; of anger at what she was doing. It conflicted with what he knew about the kind-hearted girl who he had known all his life. This was some imposter, surely, not the woman he’d grown to be proud of.

“I told you to leave, you kark!”

”Sir. I have a clear shot. Your orders.” Turel heard a distressed female voice through his ear-comm. Echo-3 was somewhere above him, blaster in hand. For a moment, one short moment that felt like an eternity, Turel considered giving the order. His finger raised ever so slightly, signalling.

”Yes, sir,” Echo-3 groaned through the earpiece in acknowledgement. No, he wouldn’t kill Morgan. He needed her alive; he needed information.

“Fine. You want me to leave? I’m leaving. Just, let her go.” Turel turned his back to his sister, slowly walking towards the entrance again. He could feel Morgan’s aura stiffen, then relax slightly. There it is.

Echo-3 pulled the trigger just as Morgan’s grip on the woman’s hair loosened enough. The blaster bolt traveled at the raven-haired woman with lightning speed only to be caught on the blade of her saber. The bolt deflected back at the hidden commando, smashing fiercely into the marble wall several meters from her head. Echo-3 rolled and set up for another shot as Turel rushed at his sister with supernatural speed. Morgan was distracted, and it allowed for a hole in her defenses that Turel was happy enough to use.

In one swift motion he stopped and pushed out with the Force. The force of the blow, while not enough to hurt or injure, was enough to send Morgan flying into a roll. She stood up just as her ragtag team of cutthroats rushed out of the front door. Echo-3 pulled her trigger and one of the pirates fell into a heap, a burning mark decorating his forehead.

The Mirialan screamed and jolted away in a dash, escaping whatever madness was happening. The world swirled into chaos as the thugs sent scattered shots at the hidden commando, smashing the marble walls around her with every shot. Morgan took the chance and charged at Turel, his lavender blade just barely blocking her acrobatic swing.

Violet and crimson flashes illuminated the dim street as Morgan continued her relentless assault. The Herald shifted erratically from left to right, varying the speed and angle of her strikes as she moved, probing for weaknesses in her brother’s defense. Turel gave ground strategically, keeping Morgan’s goons directly in front of him while protecting his flanks from her quick attacks. The Jedi kept his saber close to the center of his body, moving only in response to Morgan with tight orbits. The siblings had sparred enough times to know their respective strengths and weaknesses. Turel’s stubborn instance on focusing his technique on defense had rendered most of their matches stalemates, with the victor often being the most creative.

“You dare to use Vorsa’s weapon—” Turel batted away a vertical strike from Morgan and followed up with a opportunistic kick to the midsection. “But you lack her strength or skill!”

The Herald reeled back several steps, hastily throwing up her blade to block a follow-up attack that never came. A cacophony of screams and blaster fire echoed down the avenue. A war zone had broken out around them, but in that moment they were the only two people in the universe. Morgan charged just to the right of her waiting brother, jumping onto an adjacent parked hovercar and bounding off it for a flying vertical slash directed at Turel’s rear. The stunned Jedi didn’t have enough time to turn around and could only dive toward the center of the street, away from the vehicle. He landed on his left side and rolled into crouch just in time to catch Morgan’s next assault.

“And you lack her resolve to do what has to be done!”

Turel planted a knee on the ground to steady himself against Morgan’s onslaught. Her slashes were direct and continuous. If she shifted or attempted to flank him, he’d have an opportunity to get back on his feet. He could feel his connection to the Force weaken as Morgan’s attacks slowed into a more predictable rhythm. She was blocking his powers somehow. That’s so unfair.

“Why. Won’t. You. Give. Up?” Each word punctuated another attack. A burning in her chest reminded the Herald that she wouldn’t be able to keep this up forever. The physical exertion from constant movement and now the mental taxation from suppressing Turel’s powers were taking their toll. I’ve got him where I want him though. He can’t get out of this without the Force.

The Jedi’s mind raced. He could outlast Morgan in their current stalemate but he was outnumbered and had maybe seconds before her thugs came to her aid. He was bantha fodder when that happened. Good thing I always keep an ace up my sleeve.

Turel shifted to a one-handed saber grip, which Morgan could overpower in a matter of seconds. Luckily a few seconds was all he needed. The Sentinel manipulated his free left hand into the gesture that activated his personal energy shield. He waited until Morgan was on an upswing and lifted his arm while leaping up from his crouching position. Turel’s momentum was limited without aid of the Force, but it was enough to uncoil with the shield above him and strike Morgan directly in the chest with it. The blow was enough to knock the Herald off her feet with Turel right behind, tumbling on top of her. He landed shield first, which dissipated upon the pair hitting the ground. Morgan dropped Vorsa’s saber when she landed on the duracrete road, the blunt force of the shield and Turel’s body weight nearly cracking her ribs.

I can’t believe that worked.

The siblings struggled on the ground for a few moments as Turel attempted to subdue his sister. He tossed his own saber aside to try to maneuver the dart launcher on his right wrist into position to fire into the Herald’s neck. Morgan kicked and wiggled like a rabid kath hound, trying to get out from under the Sentinel. Turel wasn’t as strong as Vorsa, but he had a noticeable advantage over Morgan. Finally Turel got the launcher pressed against Morgan’s neck.

“Sweet dreams, Applejack.”

Click. Morgan felt a sharp sting on her neck as Turel rolled off her. The Jedi scooped up his own saber and called Vorsa’s to his hand through the Force. Morgan’s suppression had been disrupted in the struggle.

“This doesn’t belong to you,” Turel chided as he clipped Vorsa’s saber to his belt.

The Sentinel surveyed the scene before him: several of Morgan’s crew lay dead or dying in the street, and the remaining members were either inside the building going after Socorro or under cover. Turel took a deep breath and reached across the currents of the Force to the minds of the thugs still on street level. Taking on his sister’s visage was an easy enough feat, given that the thugs expected to see their leader. He walked up to the nearest crew member.

“What are you doing down there? Get the box outta here!”

The Devaronian looked bewildered to see his Captain standing in the middle of the street with a sniper on the loose. “Uh, cappin’ we’re trying to flush out this shooter—”

Morgan appeared to raise her hand to cut the crewman off. “We don’t have time for that! The city watch will be here any second. Call the others back and head for the fresh shuttle. We’re getting off this rock.” The command was given with such force that the horned thug dare not question it.

“Aye cappin’.” He turned to relay the orders over the radio. “What about that Jedi fella?”

“Let me handle him, now move!”

Turel stood scowling as Morgan in the street for few moments as the crew scurried toward their ship. His comm link sprung to life. “I don’t know what you did boss, but the pirates are retreating. I’m moving back to cover you. You still need help with—”

The Sentinel felt the faintest of warnings through the Force as his connection to it faded. He had just started to turn around when the blue rings of a blaster set to stun struck him in the back. As he flopped to the ground unconscious, his comm continued to squawk in his ear.

“—Morgan? Hold on, I’ll be right there.” The line fell silent.

The Herald holstered her pistol and slowly walked up to her brother. She tossed the dart at his chest. “Did you really expect that to work on me? You really do know nothing, you stubborn sleemo.” For a fleeting moment she considered taking back Vorsa’s saber. She unclipped it from Turel’s belt and stared at the weapon before placing it in his hand and folding that hand onto his chest. He’d know she’d left it on purpose. “Bring this back to her, I don’t need it anymore. Take care of her.” She leaned in and kissed his forehead.

A blaster bolt landed at her feet, a warning shot. “Yeah, yeah, you can come get him,” Morgan muttered as she made an obscene gesture at Socorro’s window perch. The Herald took off running in the direction of her crew, with a passing thought toward those who didn’t make it.

That was a close one. He almost ruined everything. Vorsa, please wake up soon and knock some sense into him. He means well.