Alexandyr hadn't been in Dajorra during the last incident with the locals and relied on secondhand reports and data entries from after the fact for any knowledge of what to expect. His eyes darted between the crew members around him, several of whom he only had passing memories of. Only Ruka and his initiate, Sivall, were familiar to him. Already uncomfortable after the events at Sundari station and immediately fielded to an operation after his arrival on Selen and debriefed with the Proconsul, the man shifted in his seat as he looked his initiate over. At least one of them seemed in their element, alive and thriving after the gutters of Coruscant.

"Tekpantli in view, beginning descent and joining formation." The pilot called out across the ship intercom.

The Proconsul righted himself and looked through those assembled in the craft, many with a more storied presence in The Clan than Alexandyr. Certainly, most were more worthy of being a Proconsul's protection detail than himself, Alex thought as he turned his gaze to Sivall. The Mirialan paced between them, which bothered Alexandyr, but his grip on his brow made it all the worse. A gnawing headache began to grow at the edges of Alex's perception as he watched Ruka move towards the cockpit; waves of unease grew as he heard the man shout something incoherent before he felt a sharp jerk as the vessel began to nosedive. His emerald eyes turned towards Sivall as he heard a scream erupt from the back of the ship and the small Chiss woman's arm outstretched toward him before everything went dark as he readied for impact.

He didn't want to die, not like this. He still felt shackled to a past he couldn't outrun.

The scent of sun-scorched earth and iron burnt the Jedi's lungs and shot him out of a dead slumber. An unending sun and the tropical rains of Kowak surrounded him, and an iron cage confined him. A long-forgotten sense of panic drenched him, and he began to scramble. He searched for his lightsabers, comms, or any affiliation to The Brotherhood or Collegium, anything to bargain his way out of the cage. It was then he realized he was alone, naked, and left to market in the high heat of the day. Emerald eyes turned wide, shifted side to side, and she shook the bars.

"No! No, no. I can't be here. I left everyone on Selen! We got shot out of the sky over Tekpantli! I need to find my people. I can't be back here; this isn't real! You aren't real!" He refused to believe, shouting at the dream that enveloped him, denying his return to slavery.

Patrons in the market laughed at his futile attempts to free himself and remarked at his calls for freedom. His mind slowly slipped from him, and his eyes watered as he felt their eyes size him up. Every scar, imperfection, and wrinkle was exposed to the world. Manacled hands grabbed the door to his cage.

Anger welled within him, and he seized violently upon the hinges. The cage pitched and turned as he raged against his captors. The glint of his anger grew, but his frustrations were worthless. With each attempt to call on The Force, he felt nothing. The doors wouldn't budge when Pushed; no Lightning would burst from his fingers at his captors.

A prod passed between the bars of his cage; the voltage against his bare skin and the iron bars floored him.

Groggy eyes eased awake, cast around an unsure locale, and met those of another man who smirked before they walked away. The man, a pale Zabrak, leaned on the far wall of the cave Alexandyr now found himself inside and chuckled.

"Think you're some kinda Jedi, do you? Well? Come on then! You've been raising such a ruckus and making yourself unsellable on the block you've been sent to me to fix your attitude." The Zabrak remarked. "Show me what you've got. A real Jedi would have been able to push out of that cage or cut his way out, like that ass we had a few years back. Broke through our defences, freed a bunch of slaves, and got himself killed, but managed to set some kid free. Oh, wait! You got left behind when that happened. Did you finally lose your marbles? Get fried in the sun? Eat some bad mushrooms?"

Alex choked, his eyes locked on the Zabrak's as he clenched his fist and tried to summon a spark, something to kill the man and find his freedom, anything to return to the life his saviour had given him.

The Force didn't answer his call.

"Was... Was it all a dream? What do I have to do to escape this nightmare?" The Jedi questioned as he looked into his palms.

The Zabrak smirked as he approached Alexandyr and beat him across the face with the prod. Then pushed the electric edge into his back over and over again until the man collapsed.

"There's nothing you can do. This isn't some nightmare, this is your nightmarish life. You'll be sold, again, and then when that owner tires of you, you'll be sold again for even less, because, unlike droids, you don't just get repaired. You get old." The Zabrak taunted as he threw down a simple brown bag filled with some kind of food and left the cell.

"But for some reason, the masters want to keep you around to sell. I guess they like seeing you squirm."

Alex sighed and crawled naked through the cave to the food. Tears streamed down his face. Had it all been a dream? The Brotherhood? Arcona? The other slaves he had ventured out and found help for through the years? Were they all delusions he had made in his mind, a disassociation to keep his sanity and he survived the years of his own slavery? As he reached the brown bag he collapsed and wrapped himself around it, sobbing.

As he whimpered over his meal; a shout in the hallways reached his ears. The sounds of mechanical stress, alarms screaming, and a woman shouting.

"ALEXANDYR!" She shouted.

An image of a young Chiss woman floated through his mind, draped in a shirt much too large for her as she smiled over the first meal she had in days.

The thought pushed Alex to lift his head from the dirty floor of his cell.

The memories of the woman pushed through his mind, like a frigid torrent. Their meeting on the streets of Coruscant. The reintroduction on Sundari Station, and her surprise appearance at his apartment, when he jammed his thumb in the doorway. His eyes gazed at his hands again and found the familiar scar before they turned up to find the Zabrak, now a hazy Selenian face.

The rushing water in his lungs and chest was not a metaphorical presence, but literal. His eyes darted open and his body flailed against the cold water and the grip of another, he saw Sivall through the fog of his tear-streaked eyes and shoved himself free before he turned to see the Proconsul.

"What happened? Where...?" Was all Alex managed before he slumped to his knees, utterly exhausted.

"I felt it first, saw... Things." The Sith answered as he grabbed the lunk by his shoulder and drug him out of the tide and tossed him into the dry sands by the Chiss woman.

"Get yourself together. I'm going to guess whatever we saw is what made you blow the rear hatch open and vent us and the others into the shallows." The Proconsul chided, leaving Alex feeling even more vulnerable.

Had he unintentionally hurt anyone? What had gotten into his mind? Who knew his darkest secrets?

The klaxon of an alarm woke the Mandalorian from his rest and roused him from the recurring memory of the purge, slate-grey eyes slowly adjusted to the dim lights in his quarters. Wulfram tossed in his bed for a moment more before he reached out and grabbed the offending helmet from the stand and pressed the interior switch to disable the alarm and activated the intercom.

"Winchester. You awake, or is Ritz flying this heap?" He asked, knowing full well that if it was first alarm, Chris was likely asleep in the Wheelhouse and Ritz was steering them through deep space.

They were on their way home from a far-flung assignment on Coruscant. A VIP security detail, with Chris securing sight lines across the promenade while Wulfram provided close support for their principle. An uneventful job, by far, without interruption or even a bar fight afterwards.

Every assignment was the same, verify target, stock up, ship out, perform, drink, go home. And these assignments were Wulfram's life, day in, day out. Even if it was a simple pickup, a break-in, or being someone's escort, the work was his life.

"Why do I bother, you're sleeping." He grunted as he sat up and pulled a pair of briefs out a drawer beside his bed.

"I'm awake. You stupid droid started complaining 'bout local traffic, so I'm actually awake." The man in the wheelhouse complained through the helmet, evoking a smirk from the Mandalorian.

"You know Chris, you complain too much." Wulfram chuckled into the neck of the helmet before he threw it onto his bunk and stretched out.

"I'll be up in a couple minutes." He finished as he crossed the room and picked up a toothbrush and went through the basic morning routine.

In a state of undress, Wulfram made his way up to the wheelhouse and stared at Chris and Ritz. The lane into Dajorra was backfilled with various freighters and returning warships. The Mandalorian looked at his crewmate and shrugged as he investigated the tail numbers of other nearby vessels and tried to figure out their purpose in the lane.

"Can't think of the last time I saw this many ships backlogged coming into the system. Guess I'll just go clean my armor, I'll start a pot of caf on my way back to bunk. Want any food?" He asked as he scratched his stomach and put a hand up on the bulkhead.

"No, but put some clothes on. I'm really starting to think those Helmet-obsessed zealots have the right idea. Never see them naked, never see their ugly faces. But you, I have to see both. Every. Single. Day." Chris shot back, throwing a stylus at the Mandalorian as he ducked through the bulkhead and cackled down the passageway.

"Feelin's mutual, Imperial scum!" Wulfram laughed back as he ducked into the Galley and punched the caf pot into place and started a fresh pot for the pair of them.

He then ducked back into the passageway and towards his bunk, staring at the helmet on his bunk, the klaxon alarm sounding off again.

"How did I get stuck with this schutta again?" He joked as he slapped the helmet to turn off his alarm.

Mandalore was in rebellion against the Empire, a point of pride if one were to look through their storied history. Wars waged for expansion through the stars, against the Jedi and the Republic throughout the centuries, which led Mandalore to becoming the desert the boy grew up with. When there was no one else to fight, after conquests turned into stalemates, their homeworld sieged, a tenuous peace with the Jedi and the Galactic Republic forced, and their warlike nature remained unslaked, conflict turned inward. Internal factions divided; some sided with the newly formed Empire while others refused to be bound under their yoke. The conflict on Mandalore mirrored the greater conflict across the Galaxy.

This wasn't a fight for a child; but it was a conflict countless children bore witness to.

The sound of Laser Cannon fire woke a young Wulfram from a dead sleep. Permacrete buildings fractured; the rumble and crash as the highrise pitched chilled the child down his spine. Eyes watered as he stared, in disbelief, out the transpasteel windows at the wreckage of the city. TIE Bombers, a ship he had only seen on screens, screamed through the air. Their bombs rattled the tower beneath his feet and he scrambled.

"Wolsha!" His mother shouted from the den, sending the boy on course for her.

His siblings surrounded her, Ganymede, Orri, Silas. The windows creaked, fractured, and gave way, the intense heat of the burning city below flowed into the apartment. Screams rose through the streets, crying, futility. They poured into the stairwell to escape the blasts, the shrapnel, the rancor of those who fell in the streets as the Imperial Forces marked them for death. The following hours were filled with dread. Hidden in the stairwell of their highrise as the bombings passed. The screech of Ion Engines became low hums as the bombers began making fewer and fewer sweeping runs, instead they switched to targeted sweeps on fortified buildings. The screams turned to silence, the occasional wail in the distance after another bombing run. Then something more sinister came.

The Hunt.

KX-Series Droids swept the city. The lasercannons slowed, their booming fire revealing the higher pitch of personal weapons fire. KX Droids opening fire on those who survived. The Armistead family saw them, they burst in through the lower level of the stairwell and opened fire on another family who had huddled together on a lower floor. Blaster fire reported back from the family and another who had prepared to fight Imperial soldiers after the bombing run. Nobody expected droid executioners.

"Wolsha, Meda, into the hallway." Their mother whispered, as she placed her hands on the elder twins' shoulders and pushed them in the direction of the nearest floor's doorway.

Terrified for their lives, and staring down the KX droids engaged with their neighbors below, the children pushed onward, unaware of the danger ahead. The resistance their building put up to the droids brought a familiar screech overhead. The building rent, collapsing from the upper floors as the bomber delivered the payload against the midseam of the structure. Implosive force as the building collapsed drove the air to the center of the structure, trying to find any place to escape as the building crushed in on itself. Windows burst out, shattered from their frames by the catastrophic forces. Wulfram turned to see his mother and siblings disappear in the cloud of debris in the stairwell, before the force threw Ganymede and himself out of the broken window and into the roiling flames of a speeder in the streets below, scorching Wulfram's back and arm.

Ganymede, however, was not as lucky. She fell into the middle of the street, into the stone debris, her hair strewn about her as she lay quiet, unmoving. Peeling himself, screaming, from the durasteel frame of the speeder, the young boy endured and crawled to his sister, where he whimpered through the night as he heard the repeater fire move closer and hoped it would take him too. When the morning came and the city was in ruins, he cried, as he heard detonations in the distance, knowing others were suffering a fate like his.

The neighbors that had fought the KX droids to a standstill limped out of the ruins of the highrise and spotted him and his sister alone in the streets. The following days were a blur to the orphan, but rage and the bitter taste of blood remained on his lips. His ears pounded with stress and the high ring of tinnitus never left him since that night.

It had been a few years since Alexandyr had returned home, for as much as he could call anyplace home. Clan Arcona had taken him in and given him some semblance of purpose, yet everything still felt empty. When he finally settled in, old routines crept back in, and he found some comfort. As he acclimated to Estle, he found city life to be busy but not stressful.

Staying in the same bed for more than a night was something he missed, and waking with the comfort of aircon even more so, but some things never changed. Whether travelling, stationed abroad, or in the comfort of his own home, one such comfort he took with him everywhere was a hot cup of caf. Quick brew in the mornings while abroad, but at home, he enjoyed a longer steep. He showered afterwards to help him focus and settle on plans for the day ahead. After he'd showered and had his first caf of the morning, he made breakfast and a second cup of caf. This one was sweetened to match the taste of his meal. Whenever Alex travelled, he often had meals comprised of nutritional bars or ready-packaged foodstuffs, but now he cooked his own food. He wasn't an award-winning chef by any standards, but nerf and eggs, with some simple flatcakes, were winners in anyone's record. At least Alexandyr thought as much.

Once he'd eaten, Alex sighed and got up to gaze out over the city, the perfect view as he started his morning callisthenics. Daily work kept his muscles limber and the ache away after long journeys, though he had to admit as his age crept up on him, his travels exhausted him further and further. Form practice with his sabre always followed. An outstretched hand called on The Force to deliver his lightsaber from across the apartment before he began. He checked the few pieces of furniture out of his way to open up his main room. His living quarters were relatively sparse, which gave him space to practice.

After his morning routine, Alexandyr felt the familiar wanderlust, part and parcel of why he sojourned so often. The call to see new things or to meet new people meant his bones never felt comfortable in one place long, but even home was alien after a few years away. An easy remedy was to visit the market to take in the new faces, vendors, and sights.

Market stalls were always a favourite of his, and here in Estle, they were as bustling as any other core world. The sights and sounds were enough to swallow a man, but the scent of spices and cooked meats were pure bliss to a man like Alexandyr. He danced between the stalls, investigated the various wares, greeted the new faces, and caught up with the latest gossip in the system. Even at home, he couldn't escape the same cycle he repeated abroad. Find some food, gather local faces, gather intel, and squirrel it away. Anchor yourself in place and remember where everyone and everything belongs.

After a few laps through the market, he doubled back and made a few purchases, some spiced meats, local spices, alcohol, fruits, vegetables, and a broken blaster being sold for a steal. The man loved to find things to tinker with, if nothing else. Once he collected his bounty he made his way back to the apartment and settled in for the night.

"Alright, le'see what's goin' on with this blaster. Prob'ly just a warped emitter or lens, but with these older models, they're gonna be harder to source." He chuckled as he lay the weapon out on his table before he went to put his groceries away.

While he was still in the kitchenette, he pulled a few pans down from storage to prepare a dinner with his haul, setting them aside before he returned to his newest toy. A smirk played across his lips as he began to pull the weapon apart and lost himself in the process. He only stopped to prepare dinner when his stomach complained loudly enough to garner his attention.

"Well, I guess I'll figure you out in the morning. It's a bit later than I'd like tonight." He complained as he looked out to the twilight city.

"Maybe a few more days off will do me some good? Not like I ever change how I do things, anyway. But at least I can relax while doing them at home."