Manually added by Eminent Idris Adenn

All that could be seen around him was red, the occasional white flash. All that could be heard was a blaring alarm.

With his BR-5010 raised and a knife held close to his chest, he stepped in puddles of blood created by allies and enemies. Against his better judgment, he gazed upon the corpses of his allies. The wrinkles created by his dour expression softened and his brows raised, seeing the bodies of individuals he could note was much younger than he. Though a lump developed in his throat, he trekked forward.

Suddenly, his ears perked. The sounds of his steps did not much the speed in which he walked. They seemed… Accelerated. Heavy. Just as quickly as Zodac noticed, he turned the corner and pressed his back against the wall, head just beside the corner.

The heavy steps continued. With every moment that passed, they became louder, nearly echoing the halls. The human gripped the slugthrower just a bit tighter, finger planted firmly on the trigger. When he peered around the corner, he cursed beneath his breath.

Bloody footprints turned the corner and only ended just below him.

Zodac slowly stepped back and pointed his slugthrower at the hall, ready turn whatever turned that corner into a bloody mess. The heavy steps that were tailing Zodac grew louder and he waited with his finger already beginning to squeeze the trigger. As a figure turned and looked down the barrel of the slugthrower, it was instantly met with a bullet. The shot thundered off the walls and the helmet the marine wore was shattered where the slug entered and exited. Its shoulders fell back and the rifle it was holding dropped to the ground.

It fell rather ungracefully and hit the ground with a loud thud.

Despite the now dead marine, he still heard the ominous footsteps he thought belonged to the poor soul… or whatever it was, who now lay on the ground. Zodac cursed under his breath and peeked the corner, to see three more marines walking straight at him. Before he could even blink an unholy amount of bolts were fired, and he fell back behind safety. Grabbing the riot shield off his back and holding it before him, he walked backward to find a more defendable position. A marine turned the corner and laid siege to the old man’s shield, each bolt leaving a crack. Zodac yelled and responded with a flurry of his own, all hitting center mass, the entrance of the slugs leaving holes in the armor.

With any well-placed shot, he knew the shield would shatter. He couldn’t reload, he needed his off-hand to do so. In other words, he was screwed with no way to defend himself. Zodac saw something roll just behind him- It was small and black with a blinking red light. He ended his retreat and sighed, looking back at the thermal detonator then the unrelenting marines. As the beeps quickened, he closed his eyes. Then, detonation.

To his surprise, he hadn’t been turned into a puddle of gore. Towering over him was Cato, who had picked up the grenade and returned it to the marines. It exploded mid-air, the force powerful enough to knock the foes back. The droid grabbed Zodac by his arm, nearly dragging him through a doorway and into a dark room.

“Are you hurt?” The droid asked as the door shut, leaving the two in the darkened room. All that Zodac was able to make out were the glowing eyes of his ally. His large frame bent to observe the human, and with no glaring issues, he observed his surroundings.

Unable to recognize anything around him, Zodac removed the lightsaber from his harness and activated it, raising it into the air. Endless boxes, stacked to the roof, and shelves with more supplies than one could count. He immediately knew that there was only one way in. He sighed and looked at the door, pointing at it with his thumb. “Maybe they didn’t see us come in?”

Suddenly, a murmur from outside the door. Zodac knew that hiding in this room wasn’t an option. They had the upper hand, with their cybernetics and fancy weaponry. They would either have to fight here with a chance to make it out alive or die hiding like cowards. Without so much of a second thought, Zodac stabbed through the door and pulled back. The floor before him shook just a little.

The man laughed and pressed his ear against the door, trying to hear what else was happening. The steps of retreat made him all the happier, but his face of content turned to that of shock as a familiar beep echoed. Zodac turned tail and dove over some crates at the door erupted into hot metal shards, soon followed by blaster bolts- many of which penetrated the crates and nearly struck him. The marines slowly made their way in, blaster rifles at the ready to shoot anything that dare moved. As much of a crack shot Zodac was, he knew it was a death sentence to challenge the almost perfect soldiers. He waited for his turn to strike, not with his firearms… He was going to have to get down and dirty.

As a marine checked for what he thought was a casualty, he was met by the glancing blade of a lightsaber that had suddenly ignited. The soldier dodged the first and was grazed by the second swing- but quickly took advantage of an opening. The marine hit him with a left hook, staggering Zodac. With the opportunity granted, the marine took out a vibrodagger and swiped, striking the aged man across the belly, leaving a decently sized slash and quite a bit of spilled blood.

He yelled in pain and swung his lightsaber single-handedly down at the soldier, who blocked it by pinning his forearm against the crease in the man’s elbow. Similarly, the soldier tried stab Zodac in the gut, but was narrowly stopped by a hand that leveraged itself against the marine’s bicep. Now at a standstill, it was a battle of might. The pain in Zodac’s stomach grew as more blood spilled, and he felt the vibrodagger itching closer to his abdomen to put him down for good.

Among the fighting between the two, Cato was handling the second marine. He pushed the soldier, sprinting with both hands extended outward. He shot at the droid, the bolts penetrating Cato’s plates but not stopping him. He grabbed him and lifted him far above his head, throwing the poor thing so hard at the ground there was an audible crack. Had it been any normal being, they certainly would’ve been knocked out or dead. Cato lifted his leg high into the air to stop the soldier, the marine dodged by the skin of his teeth. He rolled and unsheathed his vibrodagger, swiping at the droid’s leg.

A miss.

Cato pulled his leg back up just in the nick of time, and stopped down on the arm. This time, a much louder crack, and the knife dropped. Without time to waste, Cato picked up the marine by his neck and held him with a tight, barely breathable grip. He lifted the soldier above him and squeezed as hard as his lanky, metal fingers allowed. Apparently, it was quite hard as the struggle ended and the marine hung limply. Cato threw the body to the side and saw the struggle between his friend and the final soldier, and rushed to help.

Zodac felt the dagger slowly enter his abdomen, and he tried to yell in pain and was unable to. He wasn’t strong enough to prevent it from happening. It slowly cut deeper, and Zodac became weaker. The droid grabbed the arm that held the vibrodagger was in and pulled back, it sliding out of Zodac’s abdomen. Cato placed his hand over the marine’s hand and pulled it into the his chest slowly, as he had did to his friend. Zodac fell onto his back, weakened by the loss of blood, barely conscious. The soldier whimpered in pain and the blade stabbed deep into their chest, and they fell to their knees. They looked down at the handle and grabbed it, but suddenly stopped moving.

Cato stepped over the body and went to Zodac, picking him and the lightsaber up swiftly. “Stay with me, now. We’re gonna get you better, alright? You’re going to be okay.” Zodac felt the cold embrace of his friend and shivered. His head felt heavy and wanted to rest, the same went for his eyelids and limbs. That’s all the human wanted, just to rest for a few moments to regain his strength. The alarms that had filled the air in the corridors had seemingly silenced, replaced by a ringing in his ears. He saw Cato looked down at him more than a few times, but couldn’t hear. He fought to keep his eyes open, fought to keep his head upright. Suddenly, a final cold chill shook him.

He finally received the rest he wanted, and it all went black.

“You do realize with you being a fugitive means you greatly increase the chances of…” K-8-0 rambled, as he assisted in piloting the shuttle.

“I really don’t care. We goin’ to get this asshole, then imma get paid. Simple as that.”

If droids could raise a brow, K-8-0 certainly would have. “And you’re going down there? Dressed like that?” The droid said with a disgusted voice.

“Just fly the damn ship, ya hear?” Zodac growled, unboxing a brand new cloak, which covered his body from head to toe. Needed especially, since his armor was easy to identify.

“It’s a shuttle.” The droid said softly, and Zodac groaned.

“Cato. Shut it, before I disable you.”

Cato mimicked his voice childishly, even quieter than previously. Finally, the voice low enough to escape the ears of Zodac.

--

With their arrival on the mid-level of Coruscant, Zodac and Cato walked through the streets, both wearing large cloaks which covered most of their face and body. Cato, who looked just as silly as one could imagine, had his heavy metal steps masked by the sounds of the busy streets. Without analyzing too deeply, one could probably assume he was of a very different, tall and slender species.

“Place is littered with security, shit.” Zodac said under his breath. He looked to Cato and nodded. “You know what this guy looks like, right?” The droid nodded and his skinny fingers came out of the cloak to reveal a thumbs up.

“I can spot him from just about any distance. And if someone is following us.” He said rather confidently. “In matter of fact. Someone is following us right now. Don’t look, but they’re also hooded.”

Zodac turned around.

He, indeed, saw the hooded figures, then looked to Cato. “You’re right.”

“I know I’m right you imbecile. I just told you not to look!” Cato almost shouted, but the sounds of flying shuttles beside silenced them.

Just as they argued about what was done, a familiar face exited an alley. The Twi’lek called Manu, the person they were supposed to capture. “There!” Cato shouted and pointed, and as Manu turned to look at the suspicious looking hooded figures, blaster bolts whizzed by them. Without a second thought Zodac turned and slung his pistol out of the holster, and fired two deadly shots from the hip, killing the hooded figures that followed them. By this point Manu had already began to run, getting quite the head start on the human and the droid. “Good one, ya dumbass!” Yelled Zodac to Cato. “Ya couldn’t have been any more shy, huh!? Get his ass!” Cato obliged, and threw off the cloak. There stood an old Imperial droid, but with a great “owner” (who he hated calling owner) that maintained him well, he was seemingly brand new. The droid broke into a sprint after the Twi’lek, avoiding all the civilians with elegant side steps.

In no time at all, the KX series droid grabbed the Manu by the neck and lifted him. “Target acquired.” He said in a very robotic voice, unusually. Zodac finally caught up out of breath and he looked to the sky, hood falling off. “God dammit, why do you gotta run so damn fast? Shoulda caught him sooner, I say…” He panted.

“At least I have the asset, and now we can leave. You know, this was a lot easier than I thoug-!”

Before he can finish his sentence, lights went off just in front of them. Security had seen it all, and finally caught up to the pair.

Zodac groaned. “Had to open yer fat mouth, huh?”

Zodac threw off his cloak and grabbed his pistols, ready to fight his way out. It certainly would not be easy… But it wasn’t impossible.

“Let’s get Manu out of here. And fast.”

‘An old soldier drinks, but for what reason? Is it celebratory, have them been awarded a high honor, or has something from their past come to haunt them? What have they done to cause such a sadness, or was it something that happened to someone they loved? If the latter, what can be done to fix the trauma?’

Zodac dropped his head and sighed, closing his eyes as he began thinking. He closed his journal, on the bridge of absolutely falling apart, and leaned back in his seat. He raised his arm for the bill, then walked up to the room he managed to bargain for the night. What felt like a looming illness fell upon him, either from the alcohol of the night or from the hangover of yesterday. Either way, he needed the rest. A long day awaited him, and he needed to muster all the strength he possibly could.

As he settled for bed, he placed a slugthrower on the nightstand beside his bed, within arm’s reach, and allowed one to rest on the bed. However, he didn’t bother removing his gear to sleep. At least, not anything beside his helmet, which rested at the feet of the squeaking bed. Zodac hesitated as he reached to turn off the light, quickly deciding to receed his hand. His back rested against the wall as he stared at the door, almost expecting something, or someone, to walk through and attack. The bounty on his head surely contributed to his paranoia and insomnia, the previous nights being even more rough as he's noticed someone following him for the last two days. If there was a good as time as ever to claim the bounty, it would be now.

Within the blink of an eye, blackness. Zodac was sure it was time, the bounty hunter coming to stake his claim. The door to the room carefully slide open, and when movement was spotted, Zodac unleashed a flurry of slugs, but no avail. Whatever was moving, it didn’t even bother slowing down. Instinctively reaching for his other firearm, he felt a sudden chill run down his spine. As he gazed upwards to the person approaching, he did not find it to be a bounty hunter. Instead, a familiar woman with a young face. “Viera…?” He whispered to himself, frozen.

“Zodac,” the voice responded, condescendingly, “what has become of you? Is this what your life has become? Running, hiding, scraping by with your thoughts dwelling on the past? Can you not move on?”

“I know you aren’t real.” Zodac responded. “You, I don’t know what you are. An illusion, or something, but you aren’t real.” His voice shook only momentarily, but he stood firm. “Now, leave me. I’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.”

“I hope I'm real enough to get through that thick skull of yours. How can you live this kind of life? You seem to be more of a dead man walking than anything else.”

“And do you think I dont know that? How can I move on, from anything, when the damn government is trying to capture me? How, please, tell me, because I’ve been searching for an answer since Jakku!” He cried out, his gun waving around in his hand. “Do you think I like being miserable, looking over my shoulder every waking moment, just to make it through the day, do you?” His eyes began to water.

“I haven’t seen you do anything to try and help yourself. Not since Jakku. Not ever. How can you expect to move on when you can’t forgive yourself for anything you’ve ever done? It hurts me to see you like this. You know I love you. But Zodac… This is not you. You're not the man I remember.” The entity sat beside the old man, and ran her hand along his scarred, bearded cheek. “There is still time to change. You have to find it. You must, if you ever want to see me again.”

Zodac, with a shaky breath, looking at the woman in her eyes. Despite what she had to say, he only repeated a phrase. “You aren’t real. Leave me.” He closed his eyes as he repeated, and after a minute, he opened them. The lights were on, but the holes from his slug thrower were ever present on the doors and walls. The touch from the woman felt real as well, but he shook his head. He wiped his face and eyes, loaded his firearm, then stared at the door. He was in for another long, sleepless night.

The sunrise never really bothered Zodac, the warmth of light offered a comfort he was rarely able to feel. It felt surreal in its own right, like it wasn’t actually happening; as if some heavenly savior was coming down to save this sinner from himself, but Zodac knew he was not worthy of such things. He was a filthy mercenary, taking odd jobs merely to sustain himself, scrounging for scraps like an animal - not that he was far from one.

This morning, however, he felt no comfort. Instead, a cold, constant breeze that brought goosebumps to his exposed arms. This foreign feeling opened the eyes of the nomad instantly, his arm reaching up, his finger instinctively making a pulling motion, but to no avail. No shots were fired and all was silent, and in the heat of the moment, he was convinced he was somehow robbed of his only possessions, the gear he bore and the clothes on his back. To his utter dismay, as the realization of his situation set in, he was not in some dark room he would have rented from a tapster for cheap with a bed as hard as stone. He discovered it to be a dorm eerily similar to those on Jedha from when he was a hovertank commander.

He looked down at his hands to find the scars that blanketed his body had all but disappeared, skin as soft as it was in days long past. Zodac trembled, eyes darting all about the room, the muffled sound of music blaring from behind a closed door nearby. His clothes had changed too, from his usual get-up of armor and dirty clothes to clean, fresh leisure-wear, supplied from the Empire. Moping toward the sound, he felt a lump in his throat, tremble present, face white as a grand admiral uniform. His steps were careful and slow, heart palpitating, something he hadn’t felt since the battle on Jakku.

Pushing open a creaking old door, he was instantly able to make out the faces of soldiers that had previously been under his command. The lot of them, who were once as young as he, were sitting around a crate playing sabacc without a worry in the world. Viera, the woman he loved, sat there with a joyous smile, as beautiful as he remembered. Perhaps even more so, now that he was able to see her in the flesh. The squeak of the door's hinges brought the eyes of everyone onto him, and a smile to all of their faces.

“Commander, commander! Come, join us! We’ve just begun!” Eli called, the youngest of the soldiers, raising his hand and patting the seat beside him. Zodac blinked a few times, his heart beating as rapidly as it could. His breathing became heavy, eyes darting from face to face.

Everyone was… happy.

Now panting like a dog, a tear ran down his cheek. Not of joy to see the people he had cared for the most, the people who forever stained his memory, but of fear. This was not a reality. His soldiers had fallen before him, many of which he held as they gave their final breaths.

To be honest, he didn’t know what it was, but he knew it wasn’t real.

“Commander?”

With a heavy heart and a trembling jaw, he shakily nodded as to acknowledge the young man.

“Will you join us?” The voice echoed, eyes of the dead gazing upon him.

There was no response.

Tears hit the floor with no indication they would stop. Zodac walked to a door that lead to the outdoors, but it was locked. He violently shook the door, but it rattled and nothing more. Some of the men stood in concern for their commander, but his wide eyes gazed upon them.

“None of us have been able to leave. We called for help some time ago, but nobody's come ‘round. Playin’ cards to kill time. Come on, play a few hands and we’ll be out soon, no biggie. Just sit down.” One said, approaching Zodac.

“Stay the fuck away from me. Get the fuck away from me!” He screamed, trying to push the soldier back. “Don’t you fucking dare approach me!” He cried out, his voice cracking.

Viera stood, her hands up, trying to calm the crazed commander down. Her soft words were soothing, but they were not real. None of this was real. He must have died in his sleep he thought, been killed or something, and he was unsure if he was in heaven or hell here among his soldiers, people who he once called friends. Among people he loved, who had died because of his loyalty to a tyrant. Whatever god waited above knew of this sinner, whose atrocities could never be forgotten or forgiven, and has cast judgement.

A tortured soul, who filled the shell of a hollow person. If this was heaven, he thought, he'd rather be in hell.

The others stood and rushed to Zodac, a scream of terror filling the air. They grabbed him, attempting to hold his arms to his sides and grabbing his kicking legs, bringing their commander to the ground. He continued to claw at the arms that appeared to hold him down, but his resistance was futile. Unable to move even an inch, he was beginning to run short on breath. Zodac felt light headed, but continued to kick and scream, desperate.

Suddenly, he opened his eyes and was surrounded by people, not his peers, but strangers who had gathered to watch the insane man kick around and yell in his sleep. Some had come to help as well, trying to force Zodac awake by shaking him. Laying among filth in an alley, he sat up panting and looking at those who surrounded him.

“Go on, git. Nothin’ more to see.” He called out. While the small crowd went along, a few stayed to make sure the human wasn’t on death sticks or anything similar. He assured them he would be fine, that it was merely a night terror, and to move on.

After they had finally left, Zodac propped himself against the wall, and sunk his face into his hands. Though he tried his damndest not to, he began to cry. As the morning light took Zodac into its warm embrace, he felt no comfort. Truthfully, he didn’t know what to feel at all.

A howling wind carried specs of purple sand through the dry air, storm clouds accumulating above the childhood home of Zodac. Long since abandoned, the acidic rain of Parnassos deteriorated the simplistic building to its foundations.

At opportunity, the former soldier would visit the makeshift grave he created for his elderly mother as a child, the stone that marked her grave mysteriously untouched despite the planet’s awful conditions, the poorly marked inscriptions made so many years ago still legible. It was a miracle of sorts, though not one Zodac would pay much attention to. The crunch of the sand beneath his boots haunted him of days long since passed, each step bringing painful memories few have ever known. A sudden halt brought a silence, the wind blowing the cloth around his neck in it’s breeze. Slowly, he made his way to the floor, a low murmur escaping before he finally sat on the floor.

“Hey, ma.” He softly said, patting the top of the stone where she rested. He removed the helmet he bore and set it beside him, then pulled some things out of the sack that dangled from his thigh. “Sorry I haven’t come around in awhile, ma. I’ve been… busy with work.” He hesitated. As the howling wind finally began to calm, out came two aged teacups, along with a thermos. “I brought you a ‘lil somethin’.” He smiled, placing one cup ahead of the stone. Zodac poured a hot tea from the thermos into the cup within the sand, as well as to the one in his hand. He tapped her cup with his own with a small *clink* and sipped the drink. Silence is all that endured, not so much as a word escaping from the man’s lips. The gentle breeze brought some sort of calm to Zodac, watching the sky as the storm began to brew.

After awhile, the elderly man turned to the stone with the largest grin stretched across his face. “I know you’re gonna roll your eyes at me for this one, ma, but I got the funniest story. Just the other day, I was out drinkin’, just to let off some steam from work, yeah? And, this real tall guy, some eight-foot lookin’ alien man, stuck out like the biggest sore thumb you ever saw. Poor fucke-,” He paused for a second, “Poor sucker didn’t even enough credits to get a drink, meal, nothin’. So, I got him a lil’ somethin’ somethin’. Real nice, naive fellow, but could prolly squish my head like a grape with his huge ‘ol hand. Anyhows, we exchanged names and such, and to make a long story short damn thing ended in a bar fight.” A smile grew across his cheeks. “He’s my friend now, believe that? Got meself a friend haha. And you know what? I can die happy.”

“You’ve still got much ahead of you, Zodac.” A disembodied voice spoke.

“Ma finally, I was thinkin’ you were gone for good.” The old soldier expressed. Though, he never really knew who he was truly speaking too. It could have been in old age he was losing his mind after the countless battles he partook in, or simply the heat of the Parnassos. No matter though, he was just happy to receive a dialogue from his mother. It had been too long.

“I'm joyous to hear this son, creating bonds with others, but don't you think you’ve grown too old to pursue this kind of life? I do not mean to offend, but pretty soon you won’t be able to keep up with the others in this… business of yours. I mean, you are nearly as old as I when I passed. And-” “You know ma, I appreciate your concern and all, but I’m going to continue ‘til I can no longer. It’s how I get by, you know? It’s all I know how to do.”

“Whether or not you realize, it is killing you. Your full potential has not been realized, and if you kill yourself before it’s accomplished, it would be a great dissapointment to me. To those before us who allowed for you to be born. Find time to meditate, and you will know what I speak of.”

Zodac stared down at his teacup, swishing the liquid around the rim. He fell silent listening to the voice of his mother, unsure of what to say.

“Once you discover who you are. Come back to me. Together, we can realize your potential. I promise.”

Zodac’s hand began to shake, some of the tea spilling off the edges.

“Ma,” he began, “how do I know you’re real? How do I know that I’m not just some crazy fuck, talkin’ to myself? I just… I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do, ma.” He whined. He looked up to the storm clouds above, holding back rouge tears attempting to escape. “I mean, shit. I can’t even see you. You’re just… A voice. A voice that I can recognize, but not one I know for a fact is there.”

“Trust in me, Zodac. Only then will you be able to see me.” The voice stated, as it began to grow distant.

Zodac remained silent, staring at the sky for what felt like an eternity. A shaky sigh escaped before he slowly came to stand, gathering his things to leave the ruins of his home. He picked up his mother’s teacup, now empty, and wiped it clean with his glove before gently placing it in his satchel. He patted the top of her stone before walking to his ship, wiping his eyes of the tears that had gathered.

“I’ll see you soon, ma.”