Public A Bearable Introduction

[Grigory the Bear]

"Has many names. Some call it bogan, or ashlan. Most just called it the Force. Easier that way," he explained in between bites. "This Force, no one really knows where it comes from. Everyone has different theory, but most of them are rubbish."

Grigory paused and tried to figure out the best way to explain. He'd read and digested many philosophical treatises on the nature of the Force over the years. No one would ever accuse the big bear of being sophisticated, but that didn't mean he couldn't ponder on things in his own way. No Jedi or Sith would ever take him and his theories seriously, but that was because they lacked perspective. In his experience, their attachment to stale dogma was the single greatest factor behind most of the suffering and inequality in the galaxy.

"I won't bore you with my theories, but to put it in way you might understand, the Force is like fire. Everyone can feel the heat of a flame, even if only a little, unless you're dead and can't feel anything. But not everyone can start fire, or knows what to do with it if they manage. People like you and me, we can use the heat and light to our advantage. For me, is brain arms. Old Grigory doesn't have thumbs, you see."

The bear held up a massive paw and wiggled the stubby digits. They huge and not very flexible, thanks in no small part to the several centimeters of hidden claw in each one.

"My paws, not as good as hands. But with the Force, I can use my mind to make a hand, helps me do things I could not otherwise do. For you, I think, it's survival instinct. You might not know how to use the Force, but your brain, your uh, how you say, 'subconscious,' it knows how to stay alive. When you are scared, or angry, or both, your brain grabs a bit of the Force and helps you. Shapes the world to something it can use to your advantage. Suddenly, you are much strong, much fast. Your weapons go where you want them, without having to swing them like normal person."

As he spoke, Grigory continued eating, shoveling huge spoonfuls into his snout. For him, abstract thinking burned more calories than it would for a creature designed by evolution to ponder metaphysics, so it was important that he kept his stomach full. Plus, the stew was tasty. Once he emptied his bowl, he filled it up again. Even with his prodigious appetite, however, there was still more than enough to go around. He'd expected a conversation somewhere along these lines, and knew he'd need to prepare.

"Is something you could learn to control, with time and practice. You have special gift, Doll, one that no one can take from you. How you use it, is entirely up to you. I recommend staying away from Jedi or Sith, though. They are no fun."

Daal

 

[Daal]

Jedi...

Sith...

She had heard these words rarely, from older beings who had bore witness to her destructive tendencies in the past as hushed whispers behind hands. She didn't recognize the words in any context, so she just assumed they were making fun of her. After all, they weren't her name, she barely had a grasp on what to even call herself. She certainly wasn't a "Jedi" or "Sith," at least not that she knew of. Were they some sort of obscure race that she was fated to be mistaken for? "A Daal," that's what they always called her when she was cleaned up like she was today.

Except you've never been as clean as you are today.

It was true, that she had never had access to such facilities, as well-supplied and pristine as these were it was a wonder to her that such a place could exist where she could come and go so freely. She pondered the correlation between being having a name and bathing oneself, but perhaps that was just the way society worked, with their customs that outcasts were not privy to. At any rate, her fair skin, straight hair, and symmetrical features brought her an amount of attention that she didn't understand very well. For that reason, she tried to hide them. People had tried to hurt her for them in the past, and so she had to hurt them back. Eventually, she learned when to hurt them first.

"Force..."

She was familiar with that word, but not the context. Plenty had tried to force her to do things she didn't want to do, plenty had tried to use force to harm her, and plenty had died trying. It seemed, however, that this was a different type of force.

"I think I understand... but..."

Stupid girl. You don't understand.

She continued to eat as she pondered what the bear had said.

I think... A little...

"Like fire..."

She knew fire. It was a tool and a weapon, used by her and against her at times. She knew how to create it, how to keep it under control, and how to extinguish it. It could sustain life and destroy it. She could feel its presence, and resented its absence when she was in need of it. Both could consume her, if she wasn't careful enough. Was this Force really so similar? It made more sense than before, at least.

"But... how can I learn to control this?"

You think you understand it yet you can't control it?

I can do it. I have to.

You're not even confident enough to speak your words, let alone handle a task such as this.

"If I can control it... Maybe people won't chase me. Maybe not so often..."

You can't walk away from the river of blood you've carved that easily. You're drowning in it.

"I know..."

The words came out softly, as she teared up. Not out of remorse, she felt nothing for the lives she had taken. Every mourner she had encountered because of a life she had taken seemed to remember a different version of her victims. They remembered facades, but she knew what they truly were as they came after her with their disgusting words, their vile thoughts, and their attempts to act on them. No, she did not cry for them, she cried for herself, who had been so helpless for so long, and so strong when she didn't get a choice. Whenever the trail of death began, someone was bound to follow it back to her eventually. The fear that she would one day lose control for the last time was always lurking in the back of her mind. Self preservation was instinctual, but she was not sure whether she still felt the same way when she disappeared the way she did.

 

[Grigory the Bear]

"Could be, could be," Grigory said.

The tears made him uncomfortable. He was a practical bear, and the nuances of human emotion were far beyond his understanding. But, he didn't try to chide or comfort the cub. Crying, in his opinions, wasn't a sign of weakness. Vulnerability, yes, but that wasn't quite the same.

"Force is different for everyone. How I use it may not work for you. But, I will show you what I know, maybe you get idea."

The bear used one of his brain arms to pick up a lump of broken concrete, about the size of a baseball.

"For me, I see something I need to pick up. I tell the Force I have arm, and I use arm to pick up this rock. If that was all, nothing would happen. Force does not care about making arm. It has no shape, no armto give. I have to shape it myself. I imagine this arm, and I believe it is there. I make it real to me, and if it's real to me, it's real to the Force."

He let the rock clatter harmlessly to the floor.

"To get Force to hear you, you must make it hear you. No room for doubt. You have to believe, really believe, that what you want will happen. You have to make yourself forget that rocks can't be picked up with brain arm, or that brain doesn't have arm."

It took a little more effort for Grigory to make the brain arm he summoned visible. He normally didn't bother. After years of practice, they were just as real and tangible to him as his own paws. Still, he managed to make the outline glow faintly blue in the dim light of the warehouse.

"That is hard part. Anyone can imagine something, but not everyone can believe they make it happen. Takes a lot of focus at first, but you get the hang of it. Or not. Grigory is lousy teacher."

 

[Daal]

Wiping her face to dry her damp eyelashes with her sleeve, she exhaled slowly once again.

Focus.

Her eyes narrowed as she tried to concentrate her attention on the rock dropped by the bear. Make it move, twitch, anything.

You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?

Shut up.

It would not be that easy. Her mind was turbulent at best, most days.

Stupid girl...

He said it was hard...

Hard for a normal person, but you're not normal, are you?

What does that mean?

You're a broken shell, hopeless, useless, like this building around us.

I... I don't have to be.

There is no "be" to this, you are.

Her hands shot up past her face, covering her ears with closed fists.

But--
--But nothing. Broken things don't work. It's why they're broken.

I'm not--
--Don't lie to yourself. It's unbecoming. Lies are for people with the luxury of knowing the truth. You don't even know the truth.

Shut up.

Grimacing, her fists opened and closed quickly under her hood, clutching fistfuls of her dark, damp hair.

You don't even know where you are.

She sprung to her feet, quickly pacing a few steps at a time.

I--
--Who you are--
--Stop--
--Where you are--
--I said stop--
--You don't even know your name--
--Shut UP!--
--How you're even still alive--
"STOP!"
--Or what you're supposed to do next!
"I SAID SHUT UP!"

Her body reacted reflexively to her own thoughts, as her elbows raised and her untrimmed fingernails dug fervently into her scalp, desperately hoping to loosen up whatever part within her head caused her such distress and cast it away. Shaky legs gave out beneath her, and she fell to her knees, her green eyes wide open as tears streamed down her face in frustration. Shouting had quickly escalated to shrieking.

"Shut up shut up shut up SHUT UP SHUT UP!"

Shrieks turned to anguished sobs as her face contorted, and strength fled completely as she crumpled over, hyperventilating into her own lap, hands still clinging to a head containing a mind that would not relent.

"Just stop, please..."

Stop what? You haven't even realized you've done this all on your own.

"I can't..."

You pushed yourself to this point. In front of new company, no less.

The sudden realization that she wasn't alone dawned on her. She let go of her head and half-heartedly wiped at her face before lifting it to see that in fact, she was still in front of another.

All worked up. And for what?

Quickly, she lifted herself up, and faltered a couple steps back before finding her footing.

"I--I'm sorry I-I-I--"

She turned, mortified, and stumbled away toward another, darker corner of the warehouse, occasionally halfway-tripping, or almost running into something through her blurred, teary vision. It was hard to try and regain her composure while there were eyes upon her. That was the problem, in her own mind there were always eyes upon her.

 

[Grigory the Bear]

That was...

Honestly about what he expected.

The one thing pretty much everyone agreed on about the Force was, on order to use it properly, you had to be able to look inside yourself to find the willpower. Grigory was no expert, but it was pretty clear that the cub wasn't entirely alone inside her skull.

That happened, sometimes. Force users had to have an active imagination and the will to bend the world to suit their wants, and it wasn't just a handy way to move things around without touching them. There was a mental aspect to it as well.

Latent Force users in extreme circumstances had an alarming tendency to sprout fragments of themselves. It usually started with being afraid and alone and wishing that someone, anyone, was there for them. They longed for someone to share their pain, for a familiar voice to whisper in their ear and tell them that they weren't alone. If the desire was strong enough and their will powerful enough, the Force obliged.

Only, these desires were fueled by negative emotions. Fear, anger, loneliness, and rage were all extremely potent fuel sources for Force workings. Unlike the Jedi, Grigory knew that acting from a dark place wasn't necessarily evil, but he disagreed with the Sith position that such feelings were unambiguously good as well. They simply were. Like the bullets in his gun, they were only as good or evil as the purpose for which they were unleashed.

For poor souls like his new companion, they were a mixed blessing. The Force would listen to their desire for companionship, but it often manifested itself in unpleasant ways. They weren't crazy in any clinical sense. This wasn't split personality disorder or anything like that. It was more like a psychic hernia, formed as thoughts and feelings pushed their way outward to form a bubble with a semblance of awareness.

There was a fix for that. Not a good one, necessarily, especially considering Grigory was no mentalist. He was plenty strong though, and his own willpower was born from the complete and utter confidence of a true apex predator at the top of his game. The concept of failure simply didn't exist. Which wasn't to say that he would succeed. All he could do was start the process. The rest was up to the cub.

The bear closed is physically eyes and opened his mind's eye. He pictured Doll as her namesake, a porcelain figure dressed in a handmade robe. In his mind's eye, he visualized the splinter personality is a bubble on the doll's head, and with gentle but unyielding pressure, pushed it back down into the whole.

What happened next was entirely up to Daal. If his estimation was wrong, she'd experience a whole lot of nothing. If he got it right, there's no way she wouldn't feel it. If he was right, all he could do was force the splinter to rejoin the whole for a few precious moments. It was up to her to embrace it as a part of herself. Even if it only partially knitted itself to the fabric of her psyche, that would still give her a chance to heal. On the other hand, if she rejected it, they might be back to square one.

The absolute worst case scenario, in his experience, was also dangerous to the both of them. If she decided to cut the fragment off completely, there would be a newly created, newly independent, and highly pisse, Force fueled entity brought into the world. Free of constraints, there was no telling what misery it could cause before being brought to heel.

 

[Daal]

"Red--"

No it isn't.

Her heart was racing as though it intended to burst, the overwhelming emotions

"It's red--"

Breath, stupid girl.

"Red--"

It's too soon, you haven't recovered--

"Why is it always red--"

Her voice quivered as numbness swept across her body.

I'm telling you it's not--!

She continued stumbling in her path away from the campsite when it happened. The bear reached out, and then in her head, everything went blinding white. Her mind, blank, as though it had been bleached at the surface, held fast as her body went to stumble yet again. This time, she tripped hard, as her foot knocked itself behind the rest of her body, everything froze. She was suspended in place, upright, expressionless, save for the wide-eyed look of surprise she had begun to take on as her body and mind had prepared for the hurdle down to the hard, dirty floor. Her hood slid back from her head, her damp hair even floated in place. She looked much like a marionette whose strings had been severed in a place where gravity could not hope to command it to fall.

"What... is this?"

As she hung helplessly in the air, all she could see was white. This place did not look familiar, but it smelled the same. It smelled of blood.

"Please no..."

Once again, she was in the labyrinth. Everything was white, perfectly white, so white that if the red sky above hadn't been able to cast a shadow, it would have been impossible to tell anything apart. This time, she was not alone. If only she could have wished for it, just this once, she would have.

"Stupid girl. What have you done now?"

Her green eyes fixed themselves on one of the figures standing before her immobilized body. They surrounded her, not quite in a proper circle, they seemed to position themselves the way an hungry mob would, cornering an animal they were planning to devour. The front most person approached her, wearing the same outfit as her, but with more refinement. Her robes were worn without a single excess crease, her hair was neat and quite elegant. It was herself. She knew what she looked like no matter how unrecognizable her face would become beneath the dirt, grime, and blood. The person before her, was her.

But it wasn't. Something was wrong.

"Why can't I move?"

"You can move whenever you want. I guess it goes without saying that you don't want to, do you?"

She spoke with a gravelly arrogance to her voice, and carried herself in a stride that indicated she considered herself superior to everyone else.

"We've been here all this time, and not once would you see it. No, you run, like the scared, stupid girl that you are."

The woman approached the hovering body in the center of the circle, and placed a clean, well-groomed hand on the hand of the one who invented her. It felt hot, too hot, like fire. How could anyone possibly be this hot and live? She smirked, and gave the hand floating before her a playful tap, causing the entire body suspended in the air to turn slowly.

Her body in the real world also began to turn, as though it had been nudged. Those eyes could see nothing, however, and seemed to flicker ever-so-faintly like a busted fluorescent tube, with the same shade of green that normally permeated around her pupils.

"I--I don't understand I-I never saw anybody else--"

As she rotated, she was able to see everyone else surrounding her.

"Why are they all me?--"

"You don't get it? That should figure, by now."

They were indeed, all versions of her. Wearing the same robes, the same cloaks, the same handmade orange scarves. Some were more disheveled, others wore their hoods down, some had their faces uncovered, some smiled, one's face was even painted with colors in ways that accentuated her features the same way she had seen other women do, another was soaked head to toe in thick, red blood. The last one would not move, would not blink, seemingly did not even breathe, she only stared back at her with a burning hatred in her eyes. The blood didn't drip from her, but it seemed like her body alone was holding back a crimson torrent that would gladly drown her if asked.

"We're all parts of you, you stupid girl. You've clung to your feigned innocence for all this time, and it's consumed you. You..."

She grabbed the rotating body, ceasing it on its vertical axis in the real world just the same as this one.

"Are us. And we..."

She grabbed the ivory throat of her host through her scarf, squeezing hard.

"...Are you."

Horrified, her eyes widened as she gasped for breath. She could not reach to remove the hand from her throat, she couldn't even turn her head to try and wrench herself free.

"And you will sink or swim, here and now. That new friend of yours has a talent you've held the rest of us from. Look at yourself, look at all of us, and see what you could have been for better or for worse."

She lifted the body high, and over the heads of the crowd of doppelgangers she saw dozens more laying on the ground. Some still moving, some lying still, many in pools of their own blood, with the occasional several portion of their body strewn about. One even hung by the neck, kicking from a blanched lightpole, as if a place like this even needed those.

Her body in the real world also lifted into the air.

"You're lucky to have even made it this far, wallowing in your own self-pity, living as a grimy thief and murderer for so long. I daresay, you're almost feral, even."

"But... I..."

"No excuse. It is our turn to speak to you. You won't ignore us, and scream over us here! You don't even acknowledge your own name!"

She released her hand from her throat, and tugged her body by the scarf around her neck back down to where she originally floated. Her body in the real world, reflected this repositioning, too.

"I... I don't have a name..."

The doppelganger let out an exasperated sigh.

"You've known it this whole time. Daal. It's Daal. It's as much as part of your identity by now as the river of blood you've called your home!"

She grabbed her body and turned it, to face her bloodiest of reflections. It stared back at her, unflinchingly seething with disdain. If looks could kill, nobody here would be alive.

"I'm... Daal..."

"The stupid girl finally gets it!"

Suddenly her body in this world hit the ground; she could move once again. Her body in the real world merely fell to the dirty warehouse floor.

"Now, let's talk."

She pulled herself up onto her feet, slowly, shaking with fear.

 

[Grigory the Bear]

Once again, that was about what Grigory expected. It was a good sign though. If his guess had been wrong, the cub would have continued on as though nothing had happened. If she outright rejected the splinters of her personality, he'd probably be dealing with a very pissed off incorporeal entity orders of powerful more magnitude than it had any right to be. He'd had to deal with that once or twice, but man, it was not his forte.

As Doll's body collapsed, the bear gently caught her with his brain arms and lowered her to the floor. From experience, he knew it would be a very bad idea to move her too much. Whatever she was facing inside her own brain, it was important that she not be disturbed overmuch. If she woke up before the process was finished, then all that work could be for nothing. Or the problem could get even worse, and she could deal with whole, actual personalities sharing space in her brain and overpowering her. He'd seen that happen a few times. Sometimes it worked out for the better, but typically, what came after was both cruel and powerful.

It might seem odd that a single being, much less a sapient bear, would encounter so many lost souls with this rather peculiar position. But really, it made perfect sense. Grigory looked after lost cubs. Usually not for more than a few weeks, but he made a habit of picking up strays and trying to nurse them back to health and get them on the right track again. His success rate wasn't great; far too many were too far gone to be saved in any real sense. At best, he could buy them a few weeks of relative comfort before the decisions forced upon them by their circumstances came back to haunt them. But that never stopped him from trying.

Many beings claimed to have a calling in life. Jedi claimed that they existed to bring peace and balance. Sith strove to create a world where the strong ruled the weak. Mandalorians were forever chasing past glory. But Grigory? He was all about helping the people that no one else gave a damn about.

A big part of that was taking a bite out of organized crime. He didn't care about small time pimps, prostitutes, dealers, or gangsters. Most of them were simply looking to get by. Despite the popular perception, these sorts were usually good for an impoverished community. A decent pimp provided protection for the girls and boys under their care. Many of them were former streetwalkers who worked their way up to a place where they could look out for others. Local street gangs could be vicious and cruel, but often, they were the only thing providing stability to a community that couldn't count on the local constabulary. He despised the stigma against prostitution, hell, sex work of all types. Oftentimes, it was the only way poor girls could have any agency over their life, even if all too many fell into the twin traps of addiction and abuse. But, it was a chance to take control that they otherwise wouldn't have, risks be damned.

Where all this started getting problematic was when the wealthy decided to exploit the poor and the vulnerable for their own gain. There were, he knew, crime bosses who were relatively benevolent, in the grand scheme of things. He didn't care about them, though he also didn't have any problem keeping them honest. He was after the predators and parasites who squeezed and extorted a community until there was nothing left, and then moved onto the next. Bossman, their Rodian friend, had been a perfect example.

So long as the rich exploited the poor, Grigory would take the old slogan "eat the rich" far more literally than the great collectivist philosophers had ever intended. But that didn't mean he didn't also try to help the poor cubs who strayed across his path along the way. Most might be lost, in the end, but some wouldn't. Some even learned to follow in his footsteps. He couldn't help but swell with pride whenever he heard from one of them. Their numbers were small, but their impact was massive. One day, maybe, they could bring about a proper revolution, one that really put the power in the hands of the people and left the oligarchs and the bourgeois at the mercy of their victims.

That was his calling. And since Doll was going to be out like a light for at least the next few hours, he shrugged into his cargo harness and stalked off into the night to make good on it. Bossman still had some hitters out there who had to be taken down, and Doll would be hungry when she woke up.

 

[Daal]

"What.. what do you want to talk about?"

She corrected herself.

"What do we need to talk about?"

Her voice quivered. She had control, for now, but she didn't know for how long that might last.

"Good girl, now you're getting it."

She was beginning to understand. It was difficult to accept, but they were her, and she was them. Splinters and fragments, not separate from herself, but parts she pretended did not exist. Insecurities she tried to bury and hide where they would not surface. She'd break them off if she had to, let them fester somewhere in secret. Now, come back to confront her, manifested by the mysterious power of her new friend. Her nagging sense of doubt, her regrets, her shame, even her bloodlust.

"You see, girl, you're really not all that bad once we're all working together. You have a talent for survival, and it's gotten us this far."

"I don't think that's something I want to be proud of..."

Her doppelganger smirked with increasing condescension.

"I think you'd be one of the only ones here who isn't. The only part that isn't, well, with the others."

Delicate arms shrugged upward to gesture in a broad manner around them.

"Then the bodies..."

"Parts of yourself that didn't make it, I'm afraid. You'll never be whole, of course, but that's not why we're here. Those parts of you did not possess a strong enough instinct for this sort of game."

"Game?"

Her face winced as the word fell from her lips with disgust.

"This wasn't a game. It was dark, it was lonely, it was blood and death--SO much death I--"

"Blood and death have always been our love language, my dear..."

The same hand she had previously used to choke her with now came to meet her face, gently, stroking her cheek with the back of her fingertips.

"What we're saying is that we're here to help."

"Help?"

"We're a part of you. The strongest parts of you. The best of... Well, what's left, I suppose. If you would just accept us then together we could be so much more."

"But... How? I-I don't understand..."

"Don't you?"

"You... want me to recognize you? As me..."

"Precisely. We're all tired of helplessly watching you struggling to remain in check, you can hardly feed yourself most days. If it weren't for this new companion, you'd have already starved to death on this planet."

"No I--"

"Don't lie. We talked about this. You were in poor shape, and only lived through that encounter because of her."

She pointed to the doppelganger drenched in blood.

"She's the one who hates you the most, because you hate her. She's been here longer than any of us, since that first encounter--"

"No--"

"Don't interrupt me. It's rude."

A hush fell over her.

"She is the part of you that does your dirtiest work and you don't even have the decency to recognize who she is. She fights for your survival because the rest of you has all but given up by that point. When you want to run, she stands her ground and gives nothing in return. She fights harder, fiercer, and more boldly than you ever could on your own."

She turned to face her bloody doppelganger. Their eyes met, and the blood on the face staring back at her began to trickle away from the tears streaming down. This was the part of herself that fought so desperately, that clung to survival with an iron grip. There was no life she would not take in order to see another day, even if it meant sealing her host inside this horrible place until the carnage was over. It hadn't always been this way. When she first began taking life she did so reflexively, consciously aware of what was happening in front of her, in disbelief. Somewhere along the way fear took hold, and that side was abandoned and forgotten, until the time came where it was time to kill again. She couldn't remember, but this part held those memories. They weren't gone, after all, merely displaced into a compartment of her mind that had been tasked with the burden of death.

"It's been long enough. It's time for you to accept us. Accept yourself."

Daal. She was Daal. And so were they.

There was silence. The labyrinth was never silent, but this time was different.

Daal reached her own hand toward the face of her bloody doppelganger, and caressed it the same way that her own face had been caressed. It was cold to the touch. No, not just cold. It was freezing.

"If I ask for your help, will you still help me?"

The crimson face nodded slowly, and leaned into her hand. Of course she would help, she was part of her. They took responsibility for one another all this time, whether they liked it or not.

"You'll remember. Everything. Everyone. It will be much."

She spoke in hushed, frantic tones, in a way that couldn't quite be heard, but could certainly be felt. It was as though the two had been disconnected from one another for so long as separate facets that the ability to communicate between them was on the threshold of a dead zone, where her voice as barely more than a whisper of static.

"If I ask you to stop... will you?"

"No."

With that, she disappeared. One by one, they all made their peace and said goodbye. They were still a part of her, emotions and thoughts within her mind, neglected for so long that they had almost given up on ever being viable parts of her. If they could think for themselves, of course. They agreed to not die like the rest of her had.

"And what about you?"

"All I want is for you to have a little self-respect for yourself, girl. Walk with your head held high, even if you cover it, don't carry yourself like a victim. You doubt yourself so much and for what? I grow weary of such stupidity."

"Will... you help me?"

"I'm not your auto-pilot, girl. Fend for yourself, for once in your miserable life. Learn what this bear is offering to teach you, you don't know when you might get another chance like this."

"I see..."

"Do you, now? Then prove it. Not to me, to yourself. Stop wallowing in pity and do what you have to do to stop living in refuse."

She truly was her own worst critic. She reached out to touch the face of her last doppelganger, as she had done to all the others and show that her she accepted this part of herself as well.

"Hot... Like fire..."

"Use that fire."

And in that moment, everything in her mind faded to blackness. She knew she would not see any of them again. No, the bear made it possible, just this once. They weren't different minds residing within herself, after all, but why they had manifested in the way that they did was a mystery to her she did not think she'd ever get an answer for.

In the real world, her eyes snapped open as her body jolted upright. She shrieked, loud and uncontrollably, clutching her head once again, her body flailing as her legs kicked in every direction. Every severed body, every puddle of blood, every death knell marking the end of a life she harvested. She had thought there was a mere river of blood connected to her, but she had, as always, underestimated herself. She had thrown her mind into an entire ocean of blood from atop mountains of corpses. She saw her handiwork and could only stare in horror, screaming in denial. Denial would not protect her naivety this time. Just as she could vividly remember the day all innocence was shattered in the narrative of her life, she now remembered every life she had shattered.

She passed out from exhaustion, only after screaming until her voice gave out and her tears ran dry.

 

[Grigory the Bear]

There was a sickening crunch as Grigory's teeth pierced the skull.

It never occurred to humans to look up when they were being hunted. As a species, they tended to have a lot of difficulty thinking in three dimensions. Now a Wookiee, they always checked the verticals when they felt threatened, because they were used to things trying to eat them coming from above or below. But humans? Hell, most humanoids just didn't have the instinctual awareness that came with living in a forest. That was a shame for them, because a city was nothing if not an artificial forest, complete with plenty of places to lurk out of sight before dropping onto unsuspecting prey.

This particular meal was a lieutenant of Bossman, a human by the name of Grady who had a reputation of liking his women and his chicken battered. Had he not been on a time crunch, the bear might have returned the favor, smacking him around for a bit and making him beg before killing him. He didn't get off on that sort of thing like Grady, but reciprocity was a completely valid form of justice. As unto others, unto thee.

By now, most of Bossman's gang had fled his territory, either taking their chances with rival bosses or trying to leave the planet altogether. They never had all that much fight in them to begin with, and the knowledge that something was systematically killing and eating them was just too much. Grady had been the last of the lieutenants to stick around, probably looking to inherit operations from his dead boss. His courage and ambition earned him nothing more than a quick field dressing, and a ride back to the warehouse on Grigory's cargo harness.

It had been a productive few hours. Three lieutenants, thrice as many lower ranking flunkies, and one very confused corrupt cop later, and Grigory considered his work here finished. He would be safe at the warehouse for another few weeks, at the very least, but there was no pressing need to go hunting anytime soon. At least, not for sapient prey. There were all manner of tasty critters in the vicinity of the warehouse. Why, there was even a small river that wasn't too polluted where fish journeyed every year to breed. The primal bear in him couldn't resist the opportunity to go fishing. But even that was more of a want than a need. He had a good three hundred kilograms of meat on his harness, vacuum sealed until he could cook or cure it, another five hundred at the warehouse, and plenty of gourmet emergency rations in the safehouse. Not to mention the meat currently in the deep freezer of his ship. Even sharing with the cub, he had plenty of food to get him to his next destination, plus a comfortable surplus to hold him over until he could hunt again in earnest.

Life was good.

For him, that was. Grigory had no idea how Doll was handling his improvised psychic surgery. Self mentalism was an exhausting and time consuming procedure, even more so when it was forced. Judging by her reaction as he left, the cub was well and truly into it, and would be out for several hours. Six hours was about the baseline to recover consciousness after an event like that. It might take longer, potentially even a day or two, if the recovery was especially traumatic. Either way, he had what he needed, so he slipped out of the city and headed back to what was, for now, home.

 

[Daal]

Wake up.

It had been several hours since she had passed out from exhausting herself from sobbing uncontrollably. Her tired eyes hurt, of course she did not want to open them. Being awake meant facing her new reality, and that was overwhelming for a mind that had only just started to process what it had done. The memories came in flashes, fragmented and vague, but even such small pieces were a grotesque spectacle.

Wake UP, you stupid girl.

She tried half-heartedly to sit up, but neither her body nor her mind were motivated to do so, as she attempted to let herself nod off once again.

G̸̳̿́E̷̪͑T̵͇̏ ̴̪̱̈́Ų̵̥͋P̴̙̩̔̌.̶̛̙̞͋

That awful voice.

She jolted upright in a panic, as the voice reverberated in her skull, rattling around like a piece of flak that would not find an exit. Once again, some of the memories replayed in a brief burst, and for a moment she thought she was surrounded by corpses. Not for long, but long enough to cause her to yelp in terror as she tried to kick them away from where her feet rested before jumping to her feet. She fell backwards and just barely managed to catch herself this time, and pulled herself back to her feet. Her eyes scanned the empty warehouse around her. There were no corpses, there was no blood, she was alone.

You knew this was coming. Now quit gawking, you promised you would train yourself.

"I don't understand, I-I thought you weren't really real?"

Do you even hear yourself?

"But I--"

You are you. Everything that happened? Think of it as a dream.

"But you--"

There's nothing in you, but you. You're talking to yourself, stupid girl.

It was true she had perceived those separate memories and emotions, different aspects to what made her whole, as tangible bodies before her, but they weren't anything more than manifested figments of her own imagination, presented to her by whatever it was that bear had done with his strange power.

Although, she is still very much displeased with you. Can't you feel it? I know you heard her voice, just now.

The part of herself responsible for all the bodies that now followed her, the part of herself she attempted to make peace with, mostly dormant, dominated her thoughts. That bloody visage, full of so much rage and hate. Of course it was silly, who could make peace with that? That part of her, alone and drenched in blood, did not seek peace. It wanted to be acknowledged, it needed permission. The flimsy pact they made was nothing more than appeasement. The same could be said for every other part of herself, she had merely promised herself to compartmentalize less. It didn't undo the damage, or dissolve her lingering guilt.

"Is she?..."

Always.

"I see."

If you doubt yourself, she will take you.

"I always doubt myself..."

Of course you do, girl, it's why we're at this point now. You understand it better now, right? You lose control, your doubt takes over, and she takes the reigns until your body is safe. She knows there is no her without you, just as there is no you without her.

"So if I don't want her to take control..."

Then you must be in control.

"Then what's the next step?"

Don't you already know?

"So I have to try--"

And learn how to control this. At the very least, use this time to try and co-exist with the thoughts that plague you. And--

"--If I do that, maybe I can use this--"

P̵̪̈́o̶͈̎w̸͔͆e̶͓̅r̷̪̈́.̵̣̑

That voice again. She knew she was just talking to herself at this point, but that voice absolutely did not sound like her. And yet, it was. It thought as she thought, felt as she felt, knew what she knew. It was simpler, in comparison. It knew all of these things, but it did not care. It did not attempt to dispense pleasantries, follow through what few formalities she even knew of, all it cared about was survival and achieving that goal at any cost. If she wanted to stop the body count from increasing, she had to be able to do what it took to remain in control.

"I guess... It sounds okay. Maybe I can do this."

No. You will do this.

Her brow furrowed as she tried to think back to what the bear had told her about this Force. Like fire, he said. She knew fire.

Use it.

She reached to the floor for the first broken concrete pebble her fingers touched, and picked it up, turning it over in her fingers before sitting on the floor herself.

Feel it. Like fire. From the place you felt it before.

It had been a long time since she had involuntarily used this power, in many cases it was had only occurred when she was not in control of herself. Now, she had access to some of those memories, if only in fragments. The feeling was there though, that low rumble leading to a high pitched ringing in her head. It felt more familiar now than it had before, and she tried to imagine it coming forth quietly this time.

Not like a scream. Like warmth.

Her mind attempted to imagine the feeling as the bear had said, to picture in her mind what she wanted the pebble to do. What did she want it to do? Float? Fly across the room like she had thrown it? Break apart? The flicker of warmth was there, in the back of her mind like a nagging suspicion that she had forgotten something. It didn't matter, the important thing to her was that she felt it.

"But it's not fire..."

Focus.

"It's not fire."

Something was there. Something warm, and red, but it was not fire.

"No--"

Damn it stupid girl, don't stop now, keep going!

"No I--"

It was no longer warm.

You have to try.

It was cold. Freezing, and thick, the warmth of the flame was extinguished by sticky blood that had long since lost been without a body, that blood always lingering in her mind, blood spilled by her own hands.

"NO!"

She shrieked, like a child throwing a tantrum, and threw the pebble. It flew across the abandoned warehouse and struck a concrete wall, shattering into little pieces. The one who threw it, however, was oblivious to this occurrence, as the girl once again buried her face in her hands and began to softly cry. Of course she was afraid of what she saw, what she felt, how could she not be?

Perhaps you can try again later. You're too worked up now.

She stifled her pitiful cries.

"I'm sorry."

She slid herself against a nearby pillar and leaned back against it, resting her head.

Close your eyes for awhile longer, girl.

The body obeyed.

 

[Grigory the Bear]

Some time later, Grigory ambled into the work sight, singing an old folk song he'd learned from his creators.

"Расцветали яблони и груши,​

Поплыли туманы над рекой;​

Выходила на берег Катюша,​

На высокий берег, на крутой."​

His singing was terrible by any sane standards. Not only was his "singing" voice several octaves lower than what most would consider tolerable, he was badly off key. His raspy basso rumble sounded for all the world like two boulders violently making whoopie, the sound of their grinding and scraping pelvises forming the words to the ancient folk song.

"Выходила, песню заводила​

Про степного, сизого орла,​

Про того, которого любила,​

Про того, чьи письма берегла."​

"Kill me, please," rasped a voice from over his back. He'd decided to take one of his prey alive, as a special treat for Doll. "I-I can't take anymore."

That was saying something, seeing as how the man was paralyzed from the neck down, but could still feel everything. Grigory was good about severing just enough of the spinal column to block outgoing nerve impulses, while leaving the incoming alone. That sort of action was saved for the worst of the worst. Marcus here, he was a bad apple even by the standards of Bossman's organization. Suffice to say, Grigory wasn't overcome with an abundance of sympathy.

"Ой, ты песня, песенка девичья,
Ты лети за ясным солнцем вслед,
И бойцу на дальнем пограничье
От Катюши передай привет."

Only when he saw that the cub was still asleep did he stop what might be charitably described as singing. He had no illusions about his talent, or lack thereof. He knew he was bad at it, but it still brought him joy, so he was enthusiastically bad at it. But, he figured she'd been through enough without having to deal with that.

Marcus's relief was short lived, as Grigory dumped him onto the floor, strung him up by his feet, and began carving. He made sure to poke his voicebox with the knife, so as to stop him screaming. It took a lot of skill and patience to properly dress a living catch without killing it. Making scum like this suffer was about the only way to truly quiet the souls of their victims. Grigory felt no pleasure from it, but with each stroke of the knife, it was like he could feel another bound spirit released into the Force. It was sobering work, but necessary.

He just hoped he could finish before the cub woke up. Not everyone understood the necessity of his work, and he didn't want to scare her overmuch.

 

[Daal]

The bear is back...

The sounds of the bear's "singing" echoed briefly through the warehouse before suddenly ceasing. Shortly thereafter, the sounds of a man begging for death could be heard before they stopped.

Quite considerate, this one is. You'd better wake up.

This time, she humored herself. Groggy green eyes slowly blinked open, up toward the dark, musty ceiling above. Her body hadn't moved from its position, sitting against the pillar. It was relatively common for her to fall asleep sitting like this, as it made it easier for her to get up faster if danger presented itself. Fortunately, this place was fairly safe.

Someone is dying. The air is thick with it.

Grogginess fled her, as her senses sharpened and her breathing hastened, becoming shallow as her body lifted up from the cold concrete floor.

B̵̬̀l̵͖̈́o̶̼̾o̴̘͝d̸͇͛.

It was everywhere. It covered her vision as she saw the corpses piling higher and higher around her, dull lifeless eyes and gaping mouths expressing their horror as severed limbs rolled away seeming to fall endlessly from the ceiling. Her eyes darted to the blood-soaked robes and those hateful green eyes that pierced through her, glowing with a rage that had festered for untold years.

"No--!"

In the blink of an eye it all faded. She stood confused, but alert, taking in her surroundings again.

"Wait I-I don't--"

I bet you feel rather silly right now, stupid girl.

There were no actual bodies, save for the ones the bear had brought with him. The furry behemoth stood at his camp, carving up bodies retrieved from whatever places he had gone to. Her breathing slowed, if only a little, as she slowly stepped toward the bear with curiosity.

"Are they?..."

A̵l̶i̶v̶e̶.̶ ̵O̸n̷e̴.̵

"I see."

As she approached, the distressed breathing of the man dangling upside down could be distinctly heard, though she wasn't sure if he was consciously aware of his situation until his shaky eyes met hers. She became aware at this time that her face wasn't covered, and resented the man for seeing her as she pulled her burnt orange scarf above the tip of her nose.

Oh. You know that look. Focusing on anything else, as long as he doesn't have to focus on his current situation.

The man's thoughts permeated into her mind, he couldn't speak works aloud but his head was screaming. She slowly raised her hands to cover her ears. It didn't help, of course, but it made her feel a little better as the fabric of her hood felt soft against her ears.

"I wish he would shut up."

The level of disdain in her monotonous voice for the man was crystal clear. The man was apologizing for a lot of awful things he had apparently done, as men tended to do when they thought it would help them live. As if the pain would stop if he said the right words. She knew the bear had reasons to keep someone alive in this state, and judging from the man's thoughts alone she was certain what those reasons were. It did not change her desire to put him out of her own misery. He had seen her face and was thinking those thoughts. Flattery would not save him, as she could not recognize it even if she wanted to. As if he could even speak those words aloud. Her thoughts teetered between disgust and satisfaction, and her eyes flickered brightly a bit because of it, if just for a fraction of a moment. That brief flicker seemed to send him a message, as his thoughts turned further toward despair at the realization that she would not be his savior after all.

 

[Grigory the Bear]

"Sorry you had to see this, Matryoshka," Grigory said, as softly as he could. "Is necessary, but not pleasant."

Matryoshka. A doll within a doll within a doll. As far as nicknames went, it was a little on the nose, but fitting.

"People say killing is bad, but no. Killing is part of nature. Everyone has to kill to eat, even if they get their food from store. Someone else does the work, but result is same. You kill to eat, or get eaten. Law of nature. Problem is when you take more than you need."

The bear worked as he spoke, emptying the stomach cavity of its contents while leaving the heart and lungs attached.

"Killing in defense of self, or of others, also not bad. Someone try to kill you, you kill them back. No matter if you swim in river of blood, if they came at you first, they deserve their fate."

His accent was noticeably thicker now, largely because his concentration was divided among a number of brain arms as they clamped off major arteries to prevent excess blood loss. That was a big part of why he didn't enjoy this sort of work. Keeping the targets alive until their victims had been released required an immense amount of effort on his part, and even on a good day he couldn't always pull it off. Most of the souls were satisfied with simpler retribution, but this man, his list of sins was long and extensive. Each stroke of the blade freed another, and Grigory was seriously worried that he would run out of things to cut before the job was finished.

"Then there's this nerf herder," he said. "People like him, they take and they take and they take, with no consideration for anything but pleasure. If law had its say, he go to prison. Maybe face firing squad, but probably not. No justice in prison. No real justice, at any rate. If you want to make right what was wrong, you need to get hands dirty. Or at least, that's why I do."

He was nearing the end, of both his concentration and Marcus. It was time for something dramatic. The bear reached a paw into the open chest cavity, scooped out the beating heart, and ate it in one big gulp. Even then, it would still take Marcus a long, agonizing minute or so to properly die. With all the blood pooling in his brain, it would take time to exhaust the available supply of oxygen. But as he bit into the muscle, he could feel the last of the spirits being released from their purgatory. It wasn't something he could explain. There were no existing Force philosophies that covered what he personally experienced as he dealt with men like Marcus. Maybe he was crazy, and it was all in his head. Either way, this felt good. This felt right. It needed to be done.

"You will have to find your own path eventually, little one. You are welcome to stay with me until you find it, if you like."

 

[Daal]

"Mat...tryoshka?"

She didn't hate it. In fact, it gave her a sense of familiarity that almost felt nostalgic. It was rare to have a voluntary encounter with any being more than once, especially once she had killed someone. It was also rare for anyone to refer to her with any sort of name that didn't imply they wanted something from her, those types were annoying on the best of days, it wasn't uncommon for them to attempt to lay a hand on her either, especially when she ignored them. This man, for instance, would definitely be the type to be angry if anyone dared to tell him no. It probably would have been luckier for him if he had met her, before the bear, because she would have snuffed his life out without a second thought to the morality of the deed. She didn't enjoy killing, and in fact often resented having to do so, but she knew it was going to be her life or their at the end of the day. A small price to pay.

"I'm okay though, I think. I just thought I saw... Well, nevermind."

Good girl, I think that's the longest sentence you've spoken aloud in... My word, several weeks. Confidence suits you, build on that.

She didn't understand why she had to be so condescending to herself, but occasionally it felt okay to take in the smaller victories. They wouldn't make up for the things she'd done to get this far, but if the bear could be gentle and considerate toward her, maybe it was okay? She could have a little morale, as a treat. Just like the bear, who so casually treated himself to the heart of the hanging man.

D̸e̷a̵d̶ ̷n̶o̷w̴.̸

"I think I'd like one. A path."

This path was meaningless, a means to an end that never came. What end would that be, anyway? A shall grave? Would she even get a grave? There would be no one to mourn her either way, she had no friends or family to grieve over her, maybe this bear would, but life would go on either way. If she was lucky, she would continue to meander through life until she was covered in blood all the time.

"I... I don't think I'll go anywhere like this. Just surviving, I mean."

Those words left her lips with a downward inflection. It saddened her how pitiful her life was, there were no delusions of grandeur in her head.

There you go, feeling sorry for yourself again. And you sounded so good up until that point, how silly of you.

"I feel different. Not better, not worse either. Maybe... more open? I... don't know how to explain."

 

[Grigory the Bear]

"Matryoshka. Is type of toy. Doll within doll within doll. You said that was your name, da? This one suits you."

He paused for a moment, uncharacteristically careful in his word choice. He didn't want to do anything that would make her think he thought she was weird or defective.

"I can hear the other bits, a little. Is loud in your head. The red one especially, she has no volume control. Of course, neither do I, so I don't mind," he said with a barking laugh.

Now that the work on Marcus was done, he set about properly skinning and dressing the carcass. It didn't take long, since most of the skinning was done, but it had to be properly drained before he could excise the big muscle groups on the thighs, chest, and back. The simplest way to drain a hanging carcass was to remove the head, so that's exactly what he did, his skinning knife expertly navigating between vertebrae. It was a technique he'd used hundreds of times, often on bodies that were still moving, and plenty that were still fighting. The head dropped to the ground with a meaty plop. It went into the biohazard incinerator with the rest of the inedible material. Grigory might have been a bear, but he wasn't a savage. Too much dead meat that wasn't actively being prepped was bad for sanitation.

"Is good change, I think, for you. Seem more relaxed, if nothing else. Knowing what's inside your head is first step to controlling it. You make peace with yourself, or at least come to understanding, and you open all the doors to the future. Helps you do more than just survive. Helps you thrive. You make good progress today. More than I've seen in anyone in a long time," he said, again with the note of pride in his voice. "You should be proud. I say rest, eat, and tomorrow, we try again with the Force, if you want. Force is next step to taking control. If you control it rather than let it control you, unstoppable. Be a bear in spirit like old Grigory."

 

[Daal]

"I... I think I like it. But I think that's probably strange."

She had rarely heard her namesake used in a manner that wasn't exceedingly vulgar, or crude.

But you knew what a doll was already. A toy. You've seen them before, discarded, caked with filth.

L̴i̸k̶e̶ ̷y̴o̴u̷.̴

One thing she was intimately familiar with was the fact that anything could be discarded, no matter how pristine it might have looked. She had been fascinated by those toys, their deliberate likenesses to the people she saw around her, often with exaggerated proportions and features. In her fascination she had begun to despise them, after all, were those men not also regarding her as a toy? One to throw out after it had been damaged, or fulfilled its intended purpose? There was no disputing the bear's nickname though, there was definitely more than one of her, inside of her mind. Different sides of the same blade, no matter how tarnished or rusty they had become, they were part of her that she could not live without. In another life, perhaps they would have never been pushed aside, or discarded. Another life, was wishful thinking she could never afford.

There you go again, feeling sorry for yourself, stupid girl.

"I guess... I tried too hard to pretend I didn't need the rest of me."

But the "red one"...

"She... I... it's difficult. I didn't want to kill anyone. Now... it's like my body helps itself. I wake up and there's so much blood. I don't think I enjoy it... but why would there be so much? It's all over me. I see it everywhere."

Those hateful, green eyes had burned themselves into her memory.

"There's so much death. Hate. I feel it. It's like me... but... wrong."

If it felt wrong, then why do you feel so naked without your weapons?

Her heart skipped a beat. Had she already let her guard down so much that she left her weapons behind? She turned to the bundle that had been set aside and opened it. A meager haul, but the quality was better than she was accustomed to. Six long, slender daggers, with four short blades that curved inward, and even a machete that she had taken an interest in. It wasn't her preferred weapon of course by any means, she found that longer blades were often rather unwieldy in her hands, but the simple chopping motion required of a weapon like this was enough that she could manage. She slid two daggers up each sleeve, concealing them in the folds of the shirt she wore under her robe. They were a bit larger than the shivs she had before, or else she could have fit them all. The other two daggers into her boots, one in each. The curved blades were tucked into her belt around her waist, and she cut up the shirt she had bundled everything with into a flimsy strip of cloth, and tied it around the hilt of the machete. It would be easier to carry this way, though she would have preferred another weapon like the harpoon she had carried before.

"Sorry. I lost my weapon. The others were... old. These were nicer. I think... I would like to try to practice again. Today... I tried. It didn't work."

She felt guilty, pocketing so many shiny weapons the way she had without any consideration for her host. Her mind trailed back to the armory below.

"There-there were more things! Down there, I mean."

She pointed toward the smashed doorway to the airlock that led to the bunker below.

"There were some blasters... and stuff. If you want I--"

Stupid girl, do you think he needs your charity?

"--I'm sorry, I-I didn't mean to assume..."

She paused for a moment, and took a deep breath to calm herself.

"I don't like blasters. They're loud, and flash. People know when you shoot them."

How is it you sound like a child when you talk about weapons with all the people you've killed?

"I can shoot, a little. I don't like it though."

Once again, her thoughts trailed back to her missing weapon.

"Did you... see where my other weapon was? The one with the rope."

It was a cable, you absolute idiot girl. Honestly, and you call yourself a murderer?

"C-Cable!"

She had blurted it out, but immediately felt embarrassed at her simple mistake.

"I just... I really liked that one. It was easier to use than the others."

 

[Grigory the Bear]

"Cable, eh?" Grigory asked, thoughtful.

He had, in fact, seen a cable when he moved her from their meeting point, but he'd assumed it to be just another piece of garbage. They had been near a construction site, after all, and such things weren't commonly used as weapons.

"Is lost now, I think. Don't worry, though, Grigory will get you new one. Better one, too. I have supplies on my ship. Better knives too, if you want them. Or not. Up to you."

He gave his best impression of a big, friendly bear grin. It was hard to shape his face in the human way without exposing an inordinate amount of teeth, but he'd had long enough to practice. Cubs tended to find it hilarious, like a cartoon character come to life. They were never afraid of him in the same way that adults were, so long as he was careful not to be too scary. That was why he preferred dealing with them. They were simpler, too, which was nice. Easier to understand.

"When you are feeling better, I would appreciate if you could bring stuff up. I am too fat to fit through door, see. Now, how about some food, da?"

Tonight's dinner wasn't the flesh of the wicked. Grigory had spent an hour or so, in between hunting trips, at the nearby river. Bears, sapient or otherwise, couldn't resist spawning salmon. He'd managed to catch nearly a hundred of the fatty fish in short order, thanks to a net. He was careful to only go for the ones swimming away from the spawning point, so as not to interrupt the breeding cycle, but he suspected a few had slipped through the gaps. Roe was always a tasty treat, and the females were always fat with eggs this time of year.

After washing his paws, he set to work on a handful of particularly fat specimens that he'd merely refrigerated instead of deep freezing with their brethren. His razor claws actually made for decent sushi knives, and before long, he had a whole plate of sashimi carved up and ready to go. A little bit of pickled ginger, a dish of soy sauce, and a dab of grated horseradish (actual wasabi was impossible to get on this planet), and it was ready. He passed it over to his new friend.

"Eat as much as you want. I prefer them whole, myself."

Daal

 

[Daal]

"Fish..."

Now THIS is rare.

It wasn't easy for someone in her position to acquire fish in any form. It spoiled quickly, street vendors didn't prepare it often for that reason. If they did, it was deep fried and had almost no flavor, and the texture was rubbery more often than not. Occasionally she could steal or scrounge up the credits to pay for her food, but this was one of the few things she wouldn't waste scarce currency on. The greasiness would hit her stomach and make her feel sick shortly after eating, so she had come to avoid it. But this, this was indeed a rare privilege for her.

"You don't cook it?"

She was naturally skeptical, but she had eaten raw meat in other forms before, the most recently instance being the Rodian's liver from the other day. She watched how the bear ate, cautiously, as he had prepared an array of strange substances before her. The dark, watery liquid seemed to be the one he went to the most, so she decided to follow his lead as she skewered a small piece of fish on one of her thinner blades and dipped it into the liquid. As she took the fish from her skewer, she looked as though she was going to make a puckered face for a brief second. She was not accustomed to seasonings in any form, so the overwhelming saltiness was very unfamiliar to her as the fish met her tongue. The soft, gentle texture of the fish with its own unique flavor definitely balanced out the saltiness, and she soon found herself taking a second piece, and then a third, until she had lost count of how much fish she had eaten.

"I don't think I've ever eaten food this good before."

She leaned back, and stretched her arms out behind her.

"What did you need me to get for you?"

It was difficult to imagine the bear being in need of anything, he seemed quite capable of providing for himself. Of course, the bunker was narrow, even her own head nearly scraped the doorways at first. It was a gaudy little hole in the ground, but a hole in the ground nonetheless. Still, that hole in the ground was packed with quite a few goodies from what she had seen. She wasn't sure what many of the things down below were used for, but surely the bear, as well-learned as he was compared to her, would know.

"I would like better tools. These are... too light."

The blades she had found were useful in their own way, but they were the flimsy yields of mass production no matter how optimistic she tried to be. She suspected that the Rodian didn't actually have many specialties compared to her own, aside from general sleaziness and the ability to dish out abuse.

And what are you, some sort of self-respecting murderer, too good to use what you've acquired freely? Those rusty shivs were doing you no good.

"They're... not very sharp."

It did make her feel better to see the bear demonstrate his animated personality, even if it was for show, it was rare for her to be around anybody who could liven up a room without alarming her.

 

[Grigory the Bear]

"I am no fan of blasters," Grigory said, patting the AK-141 fondly. "Bolts too slow, and Jedi, they bounce them back at you with their laser swords. I do like grenades. You know what those are?"

It pleased him to no end that she enjoyed the salmon. Normally, the bear scoffed at anything that resembled the food of the privileged. His cooking was simple and hearty, but delicious nonetheless. The decadent capitalist pigs that ran things, they liked theirs mangled to the point that it barely resembled food. And the portion sizes. Bah! Two bites and a hint of sauce wasn't a meal, it was a travesty.

Sushi, on the other hand, that he understood. Raw fish, sure, but artistic raw fish. Positively delightful.

"Heavy weapons, and sharp ones two? I can do that here," he said. "Forging is easy, if you know how. Make knives however you want."

If there was one advantage to being a giant bear, and there was way more than one, it was the ability to swing a hammer as hard as he wanted without getting tired. Regular arms and muscles might, but his brain arms were strangers to fatigue. There was plenty of decent quality scrap metal laying around, and it was easy enough to throw together a forge. Finding a suitable grinder might be a little bit difficult, but not impossible. That would be a task for tomorrow, when they weren't training. Not that all the hunting was done, there was time to work on other things.

"You ever swing a hammer? I show you that too. Never run out of knives."

Daal

 

[Daal]

Her eyes lit up immediately at the notion.

"I can... make them?"

She was familiar with the concept of making her own weapon through improvisation, but had never had the good fortune to be able to make something intentionally. She reached for one of the blades in her sleeve, as well as one of the curved ones tucked into her waist belt.

"I like when they're thin. Or curved. But not too short. I'm not good with longer ones though."

She reached to the machete she found below.

"This one is different because you just chop, you know? But I'm good at swinging things."

Setting it back down next to her, she pondered what the bear had said.

"There's a lot of stuff down there. Where I found these. I don't think I know what grenades are."

She had never had the misfortune of running into someone who carried such devices. She had heard the word before, in passing, but never actually saw one.

"If you tell me what they look like, I can go look."

My word, girl, you sure are talkative today aren't you? It really suits you to not cower and wallow in your own pity.

It was rare that she had ever received the opportunity to be useful to anybody, in a way that wasn't detrimental to her own well-being, that is. She was eager to please, now that there was a sentient being before her whose approval she could actually attempt to seek.