First, my sight returned, although initially, I thought I had gone blind. But no, a muted, barely perceptible light was filtering through something covering my eyes. My breathing was slightly restricted, and there was a taste of rubber in my mouth—I was wearing a mask.
My body slowly began to revive. I felt a pleasant tingling spreading from my chest throughout my entire system. It felt as if I had slept in a very uncomfortable position and everything was a little stiff.
My arms and legs were the last to register. A cold, wet substance enveloped my body. There was no floor; I was suspended in an unknown void.
Fear appeared at the edge of my consciousness and retreated. There was only absolute indifference to everything happening.
Flashes of recent events flared one after another and died out. It was as if I were watching a film, and an invisible screen separated me from all the fear, pain, and hatred that had consumed my sanity at that moment.
I wanted my heart to respond to the death of the person dearest to me in the entire galaxy. A part of me wished to sob, to beat hysterically, mourning the irreparable, but there was only a scorched desert in my chest.
Where emotions used to reside, there was now only emptiness. Try as I might, I couldn't feel anything now.
A voice only slowly broke through the fog of thought and apathy.
"...Set. Set! Check, do you hear me? If so, nod, move your hand, do anything. Set. Check, please answer. This is the Boss."
The earpiece speaker heavily distorted the voice, making it impossible to identify who was speaking. However, I didn't need to.
I could now perfectly sense the life around me. Not far, but enough to understand.
Someone unfamiliar was standing in the far corner, and their emotions suggested they were glad of my awakening. The Boss and the Old Man stood nearby; joy and relief radiated from them in waves.
I moved my hand as requested.
"Thank the gods. I'll tell you what's happening now. Just don't worry."
Hah, those are usually the words that make people worry the most.
"On that fateful night, I wanted to take the full force of the attack myself. But unfortunately, it didn't work out."
A deep sadness was audible even through the speaker. His voice was hoarse, clipped, as if he had eaten handfuls of sand and then tried to sing an aria.
"The bastard didn't show up, but sent his entire personal pack of mongrels. I thought I was finished and wanted to take as many wretches with me as possible—luckily, I always carry grenades. But before I could activate them, a hail of blaster fire rained down from the neighboring roofs. It was over in three minutes. Some tried to hide in the alleys, but the city is our territory, and we know it too well. Not one of the two hundred scoundrels escaped. Apparently, everyone will now know that the rumors of my nobility are exaggerated."
The voice cracked and broke. A long pause hung in the air.
"Upon receiving the distress signal from the brothel, we immediately moved out. But we arrived too late. You were lying there like the dead, your pulse barely noticeable. Everyone nearby who belonged to us was unconscious. The enemies were dead. And your mother... I think you remember yourself."
An unpleasant crunching sound echoed. I didn't immediately understand what it was. Only by the taste of blood in my mouth did I realize it was my own jaw.
"When we saw you, we thought you would die. Your whole body was covered in bloodstains, your shoulder was pierced by a blaster bolt, and there were marks on your arms and legs, as if your muscles were torn from the inside. I've never seen anything like it in my life. So, we loaded your body onto a speeder and took you to the Chemists; they're the only ones with a bacta tank in this dumping ground."
"Apparently, the rumors of our victory had already spread, so they let us in without issue. And here you are; a week has passed already. The doctor said we did the right thing by bringing you in. You had so many internal injuries. Just your muscles were torn in fifteen places; good thing your internal organs weren't badly damaged. Ehh... You'll have to float here for at least another day. Everything healed, but you only regained consciousness just now. I hope when we take you out, you'll tell us what happened with you? Well, heal up, Set; we'll see you soon."
It seems some gas was fed to me through the mask; I fell asleep too quickly. Or maybe my brain hadn't recovered from the shock yet, I don't know.
Time passed. After my full recovery, I actively plunged back into life. There was a lot to do; all the resources, all the money, and all the property belonging to our enemies were now in our hands.
The Boss, having regained his strength, was actively utilizing the new resources. There was a catastrophic shortage of people. Many had died, and some had voluntarily left the group. The Boss didn't keep anyone by force; he paid generous severance and helped them settle in a new place if he could.
Of course, there were also those who tried to carve out a bigger piece for themselves. And they had such an opportunity.
There were barely more than two hundred combat-ready people who knew which end of a blaster to hold. But many failed to account for one new factor: a monster was now on our side—me.
The Force was now felt much more vividly than before; although my control was shaky, the moment I recalled that night, rage and hatred filled me, making me stronger.
My arsenal was meager, but it was more than enough to destroy ordinary people. When an inexplicable power sows destruction and death, you least of all want to die.
The Boss took me completely under his wing. We had an important conversation that fundamentally changed my life. I was no longer just a street kid, a future member of another gang. I was a grim symbol of our might.
We were sitting in his office. A tall sentient, almost two meters high, with red skin and two horns on his head, and a small human child sitting opposite him. A perfect illustration of the phrase, selling your soul to the devil. Chuckling at my own thoughts, I focused on the conversation ahead. The Force whispered that this would be something important.
"Listen, Set, I'm asking for your help. You are our chance to clean up this city. We will take the lead and establish order here. We've known each other for a while; you know perfectly well how I manage things. I promise to teach you everything I know about the Force, and if any information comes into my hands that can make you stronger, I will immediately pass it on to you. Your salary will be that of a senior officer, and you will report directly to me. We need your strength; I need it."
We looked each other in the eyes. He didn't convince me; I planned to keep the promise I made to Mom. I will find that bastard and tear him apart!
The wooden chair I was sitting on began to crack; the Force was escaping my control. Again, I wanted to go out and destroy everything in my path. With difficulty, I restrained myself.
Holding the pause, the Boss continued.
"I understand what you want. Please, think carefully about this. Where will you get the money for information, for a ship, for food, for Kriff's sake? You are only eight years old. Will you steal and kill? Believe me, for every beast, there's a bigger beast. You might accidentally die in a brawl, or your ship might be destroyed by pirates. Your mother wouldn't want this life for you, after all. Don't worry, I promise that a portion of the money you earn will go toward searching for that bastard. I would happily twist his neck myself, but we need to focus on the here and now, or there might not be a 'later.' Please consider my offer. If you decide to leave anyway, come say goodbye first and collect your money. I know the approximate amount your mother saved, and you will receive that money, and even a little more."
I was torn all night between staying and leaving, but common sense prevailed over the wild desire for revenge.
Now I was the formidable executioner of everyone who stood in the way of our group. Shaman, as I was nicknamed in Low-City.
As soon as the Boss received my consent, he asked me to call him by his name, Koven. It was difficult, but I got used to it. Koven provided me with a mask that concealed my face and altered my voice, a black cloak that hid my figure, boots with high soles, and two trusty DC-17 blasters on my belt.
Now, no one could recognize my real face. Only a few people knew who was hiding under the mask.
I was not misled about the training, either. Koven somehow acquired Jedi manuscripts on controlling the Force. There were also some basic fencing techniques, but I couldn't master them.
The Jedi's lightsaber lay in my room, a trophy that reminded me of the goal I was obligated to achieve.
My attempts to use it were fruitless. It was a very awkward weapon for me. The balance was wrong, the hilt was too long, and when I held it, such revulsion came over me. It felt like holding a worm, and it was wriggling and squirming—ugh, disgusting.
So all I could do was practice what I already knew: precognition and basic Force control, in the spirit of lifting, lowering, and crushing.
In truth, there were problems with that, too. I remembered that night, how I moved, what I did. Compared to that, what is happening now is child's play. I could barely lift and move a chair, let alone large objects.
I also had problems with precognition training. If the firing speed of the training droid was above average and there was more than one sphere, I couldn't dodge. I would evade one, and the other would immediately hit me. I knew where the shot would land, but I couldn't dodge it.
Such an irritating feeling of helplessness. It was the only thing that helped me train for several hours a day without stopping.
The training bore fruit, but it was all slow, too slow. It literally drove me crazy.
Often, I was seized by uncontrollable rage, and I began to smash everything around me.
All members of the group now shunned me. As Koven said, they felt the pressure emanating from me, the thirst for blood, and they felt fear.
Although I tried to control myself, it became harder and harder every day.
Every time I filled myself with hatred, rage, and the desire to kill in a skirmish, the Darkness enveloped me more and more, and I liked it. Such strength, such power!
It was as if I were falling down a deep well, and the light was no longer visible, only the darkness and the feeling that the bottom was still far away.
This intoxicating feeling of power—it dizzied, it attracted. Every time, I wanted more and more. I knew this wasn't the limit, but somehow, I managed to hold back from an unstoppable plunge into the abyss.
As part of my training, I tried to meditate, calm my feelings, and gain control of myself. But every time, the memories of that fateful night flashed before my eyes. My feelings sharpened, the anger only grew stronger, and my body demanded the release of energy. Once, during meditation, I had an outburst, just like that night.
Metal plates were pulverized into dust. Luckily, the load-bearing structures weren't badly damaged. Since then, I stopped all attempts to control myself through meditation.
But despite all my drawbacks, I was a wonderful deterrent to the enemy.
So we lived, increasing our influence and restoring our former prestige. Within a year, we had regained our lost positions. We were feared, we were respected; everyone wanted to work for us.
Money was periodically deposited into my bank account; a stack of unidentifiable chips worth several thousand credits lay in my hiding place. Even now, I could easily cover all my expenses and leave.
But I hesitated. What was the reason? Why was I running from fulfilling my main goal? The answer frightened me: at some point, I realized I wanted to stay here. I liked the fear that surrounded me, the reverence with which they looked at me, the power in my hands.
Koven fulfilled my every whim. I was losing myself, turning into a wild animal, uncontrolled, always hungry. The lack of major confrontations bothered me; I wanted to test my strength again, to plunge into the dance of death.
Not a day went by when I didn't snap at someone. Now, only Koven could somehow stop me.
A little more, and I'm sure I would have snapped and caused a bloodbath. But events occurred that prevented me from losing myself completely. The war in the galaxy was gaining momentum.
In the second year, battles escalated across the entire galaxy. Heroes like General Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Ahsoka Tano performed feats almost daily. The terrible Separatist cyborg general, Grievous, ruthlessly slaughtered Jedi. Legions of metal soldiers against those grown in a test tube.
It seemed that all this was unimaginably far from us. In the lower city, life had not changed; everything was stably bad. No one believed that this war would affect us in any way. Who needed a third-rate planet in the Outer Rim? But we didn't even have time to realize it before the war reached even our distant corners.
Raising our heads, we watched as one Separatist ship after another appeared in our orbit. Four Munificent-class star frigates one after another released transports filled to capacity with metal soldiers. The government didn't even offer resistance; they simply surrendered without a fight.
It was whispered in the streets that the Separatists simply bought our leaders for hard currency. But even these conversations quickly stopped. The streets, once packed with vagrants and criminals, emptied out.
Droids flooded all the streets. The metallic clanging of footsteps echoed continuously throughout the city. Defensive positions were built; some residents were simply evicted from their homes, and fortresses were erected in their place. And this was not an isolated incident; the entire lower city was bustling.
Metal soldiers rounded up sentients for large-scale construction sites and used them as free labor. When one died, another was simply put in their place.
Low-City died down. Columns of droids walked the empty streets, and no one else. Residents scattered everywhere. Only at night, under the cover of darkness, was it possible to go outside.
It was at this time of day that couriers with packages, group fighters, and call girls moved. But there were so few of them that almost no one noticed them.
There were also those who decided to resist. They shot several droids and took them for spare parts. Punishment followed immediately the next morning. Several dozen residents were led into the square and shot. This was broadcast on all planetary channels.
After this, the people revolted. Underground cells began to appear; droids were destroyed, and their weapons were taken by the rebels. But all this quickly ceased.
Losing patience, the Separatist commander simply launched an orbital strike on Low-City. I'm sure the upper city even thanked him for the exemplary cleaning of the garbage.
The craters left by the strikes held several thousand deaths. There were no more warnings or threats from the residents. Everyone knew what they would do if Republic troops arrived. Revenge and the desire to get rid of the arrogant bastards—those were the moods that reigned in the lower city.
Surely at the behest of the upper city leader, droids broke into homes, seized people, and shot them right on the street. And no one could fight back; everyone was afraid, and the realization of this fear angered the people even more.
And their anger began to spill over onto the wealthy. At night, several rich majors were killed by throwing a grenade into their transport. A few days later, unknowns blew up a guard post and broke into the upper city, robbing and killing.
Aggression was met with even greater aggression. All buildings within a two-hundred-meter radius of the upper city walls were torn down. Private police units were ordered to shoot anyone who crossed the line. And this boundary advanced further into Low-City every day.
The conflict between the cities had been brewing for a long time, and now it reached its peak.
When the familiar triangular Venators of the Republic army appeared in orbit, recognized from holovids, and clones began to land on the planet, the people revolted.
An unstoppable wave of bandits and ordinary people swept away the positions of the 'tin cans' and the police, creating a foothold for clone transports. The Red Moon Pirates launched a coordinated attack on the Separatist ships.
The war had begun.
The clashes, which were local, began to escalate into larger and larger conflicts. Entire blocks turned into battlefields. Fights flared up throughout the city, constantly claiming the lives of sentients.
Pain, fear, and rage flooded the city. I felt simply wonderful. Sometimes going without sleep for several days, I managed to participate in many skirmishes, destroying both people and droids. Sometimes I had to force myself to sleep so that my body could somehow recover.
My mind, clouded by the Darkness and the thirst for battle, cried out with delight. I had a place to release everything that was inside me.
Once, looking in the mirror, I saw bright yellow eyes surrounded by red blood spots from burst capillaries. Black shadows deepened around my eye sockets, further highlighting the glowing irises. My skin had taken on a whitish hue and looked as if I had just risen from the grave.
My once handsome child's face had become sharp and repulsive. Sunken cheeks and a feverish look did not add to my beauty.
Seeing myself, I was horrified. Was that reflecting in the mirror truly my face?! Trying to get rid of the terrible vision, I quickly put on the mask that had become my second skin. Only in it did I feel relaxed.
After that incident, I didn't take it off, even while sleeping. The smooth metal surface with red eye lenses and a predatory line for a mouth became my second face, which I didn't want to part with.
The rhythmic, mask-distorted breathing calmed me and helped me fall asleep in any condition. The world was colored only in red, matching my mood exactly.
I wandered the city like a ghost in search of battle. Sometimes I had to return to base to replenish provisions, drop off the most valuable trophies, and take new pistols, as the old ones were melting from frequent use.
I was always met with grim stares or simply ignored. Since the start of the war, I had participated in only two operations with everyone else. The rest of the time, I was left to myself. No one even tried to involve me in general raids. The gap between me and the other members of the Shadow Front was becoming increasingly apparent.
But that suited me more than fine. Wandering and exploring the new city in between battles was interesting. Much more interesting than sitting and listening to those filthy, bawdy jokes or playing gambling games.
Due to the constant fighting, the city quickly turned into ruins. In place of homes, heaps of concrete and metal beams now towered. Constant explosions and gunfire became the familiar backdrop for the residents.
The heavy weapons of both sides left no chance for the quick restoration of all that rubble.
At first, everyone thought that through combined efforts, we would destroy the droids in a matter of days. However, reality made its adjustments.
I don't know why our planet was so important, but the Separatist army command held onto it tightly. Just when victory seemed within reach, an enemy armada arrived.
Seven Munificent-class ships and one Lucrehulk-class encircled our planet. New droid forces almost completely wiped out the clones, and they were forced to retreat into the forests, along with some of the rebels.
Now the battle was taking on a planet-wide scale. If previously almost all fighting took place in Low-City territory, now the entire planet became a battlefield.
Even for me, it became dangerous to venture out onto the city streets unnecessarily. I was capable of destroying ten B1 battle droids with accurate fire, but now patrols consisted of several dozen such robots. Engaging such forces alone was mortally dangerous.
I had to sit tight in the catacombs with the main part of the Shadow Front.
This continued until fresh Republic troops arrived. Now the war entered a new phase.
The forces of both sides were practically equal. Attempts at breakthroughs were made here and there, but all of them failed.
The clones supplied us with information about enemy warehouses and fortresses established in the city that could be captured. Initially, everyone was skeptical about the idea of close cooperation with the troops. You do your thing, we do ours. But the very first raid on a warehouse changed the general mood. The amount of valuable resources located there was enough to constitute half of our group's income. So now everyone was waiting for the next raid on an enemy warehouse.
Huge competition arose among the groups for such contracts from the Republic command.
The war showed no end in sight. Both sides sent in newer and newer forces. No one wanted to yield this planet, which was somehow important to everyone, except its own inhabitants.
Several months after the Separatist occupation began, most of the city's population either moved to the forests or fled the planet. Only a few rebels and major bandit groups were ready to defend their home. Some out of patriotism, others for mercenary motives.
And I simply enjoyed it all, trying not to die in the process.
————
Read ahead of schedule here → pat-reon(.)c-om/Bluuuxx [remove the parentheses and hyphen]