Coruscant was a planet that got darker the deeper you traveled. Gisil could feel this through the force every time she visited; if she had eyes, she would see that the physical reality would mirror the metaphysical one she saw. Addicts and murderers voided any possible light in the sublevels. The One Sith owning the core planet didn't help this feeling either.
“Darth Onna is going to have a fun time with me here,” she said to herself, sighing.
Gisil nabbed a security gig that was posted at an undercity Bounty Hunter bar. A Mando needed backup. She thought it was odd, considering the ones she had dealt with in the past all seemed capable to handle themselves. She then considered maybe it was something too dangerous. The Mandalorians are indeed hunters by nature and sometimes surely theh would knoe smarter to not hunt big prey alone. If they were calling for outside help then it must be something serious, she figured.
She strode out of the bar and into the nearest turbolift; the blurred glare of neon lights and holoprojections slid across her smooth, opaque visor. Once inside the lift, she punched in the level of the job and descended.
The ride rattled; the lights above flickered a dozen times till they decided to finally stay on. After a long screech against the rails, a ghastly whisper entered her mind. Her faux-mother, Darth Onna, materialized in her force vision next to her. She stood there hooded; the shade from the hood hiding the cowl over her empty eyes.
“Petty distractions for your real goal,” claimed Darth Onna. “You're not going to like what you find down there anyway. In fact, you may even be more tempted to claim the power that I'm practically handing to you.”
“How do you know what’s down there? You only exist in my mind.”
“And temporally I exist. The future is always in motion, dear. All sides of the force agree on that idea, at least.”
Gisil tried to ignore her by anxiously checking her gear. All thermal detonators were on her belt, she had both hold out blasters, enough charges for her DH-17; the DH-17 itself felt sturdy and practically new.
“Maybe that's something you should have checked before getting on the turbolift.”
“Maybe it’s something I'm doing to get you out of my mi-”
A thud, screech, and a whine of metal was heard; the turbolift shook with it, the lights flickered incessantly. Gisil looked at the window and there was now a streak of some sort of blood across it. The owner, a flailing winged creature in the distance, spinning downward in the undercity’s abyss. Gisil could feel its suffering through the force.
“Do you feel that sensation of struggle? There's so much more where that came from down here.” Darth Onna gave her wide, menacing grin.
Leaving the turbolift, Darth Onna faded away from Gisil’s mind. She followed the directions for the backup call she was given, leading her into a nearly abandoned street. She could feel less than a handful of presences in the structures that created this immediate area of the sublevel. An old junkie, spiced out, gasped at Gisil.
“You carry something I once carried long ago.” He pointed to the cargo pocket of hers that was supposed to be hiding the lightsaber. “I may be burnt, missy, but I can still see the force like you.”
Darth Onna’s lips whispered into her ears. “Help clean up this street. Take him out of his misery.” The air from each breath whispered into her ears, breaking through the visor’s helmet that covered them.
“You seem like the force has suit you well… that's a nice jacket. Gundark leather?”
Gisil bit her lower lip. “He’s weak. A blemish on the true power of the force.”
“And that visor too. The Jedi suitin’ you all up like that now?”
“I'm not a Jedi.” Gisil tried to hold back her annoyance.
“Well you don't look like a Sith.”
“This is a leech. This is what the light begets. He will now beg.”
Gisil’s hand twitched by her pocketed lightsaber.
“I fought them. I could tell you of course… teach you a thing or two about your gift. But you know.” He rattled a mug, raising it weakly. “A little something could help take an old vet a long way.”
“Do it!”
The hilt flew from her pocket into her hand, igniting. In a red twirl the old vet lost his head; it thumped with the body on the floor.
Gisil felt the echoing pleasure of Darth Onna on the Katarr moon, lightyears away. She deactivated the saber, placing her visored face in her free palm. “That emptiness will feed her for now. Schadenfreude queen.”
Walking about a block down, despair lingering, she reached the address of the job. The door was open, its rusted handle broken. Gisil drew her DH-17… she did feel a faint presence in the distance. A warrior? Was this the Mandalorian? Cautiously, she guided herself to him. She felt the heat of the pipes’ steam on her exposed skin, she sensed the condensation that built on her visor. None of it broke her cautious focus.
Closer to the Mandalorian she got, the stronger of a presence that once passed lingered. It laid on the floor. In blood.
She turned down the corridor and there he was, standing over it. She lowered her blaster. “[member=Jevar Xolius]? It's me the backup. You can call me Gisil though.” She tried to crack a little smile. She figured maybe that would help convince him that she wasn't the reason why there was a decapitated junkie outside.
