“We don’t like your kind,” a kid of about seventeen spat, blocking my path.
Tailing the maniac turned out to be not so simple.
First, I stood out in my clothes.
Second, my face didn’t help at all.
I had to use the Force to avert eyes.
I couldn’t keep it up for long, and the crowds were taking their toll, so I had to focus specifically on my tailing target — which is why I ended up meeting some local thugs in an alley.
“Empty your pockets, kitty,” the kid ordered, brandishing a plasma cutter.
“Or we’ll singe your fur,” a sidekick guffawed, theatrically smacking some piece of metal against his palm.
Rrrr, I really don’t have time for this trio of idiots.
I’m already plenty irritated that the psycho isn’t hurrying home but prefers to savor the upcoming event in his imagination.
First, he sat in the cantina, then he walked around the shops, bought some trinkets.
Now he’s ended up in another dive.
I followed him in there and almost died.
The aromas and smoke floating around were so thick no amount of self-control could handle.
Holding multiple Force techniques at once is beyond me.
I could probably manage them, especially sitting in some corner, but the quality would be terrible.
“Well, kitty cat, why so quiet?
Already sh—”
The crunch of a breaking nose was drowned out by the sound of my fist connecting.
The leader’s body knocked over one of his accomplices, and my foot slammed into the last robber’s chest.
A dull thud of a body hitting the wall, then silence broken only by ordinary sounds.
No one noticed anything, and those who did see something habitually pretended they hadn’t.
“Take these two and disappear.
Got it?” I flashed my fangs and dug my claws slightly into the neck of the only thug still conscious.
“Y-yes,” the trembling body managed.
“Move it, skunk.”
The kid, quickly grabbing his friends, showed considerable skill at speed-dragging cargo.
The leader, though, would probably lose the hair on the back of his head — but that didn’t concern me much.
The Force said there would be no consequences, and that was all I needed.
Still, I decided to change my observation point.
It stank.
I waited.
Master had clearly gotten himself a good drink if he still hadn’t wondered where his wayward padawan had wandered off.
Though our bond had strengthened recently, so we’d most likely sense real danger to each other.
At least from ordinary threats, almost certainly.
Finally, the maniac managed to stumble out of the smoke-filled cantina and, with a brisk though somewhat wavering gait, headed on his way.
Judging by the emotions and thought-fragments I was picking up, the bastard was perfectly content with life and going home.
He was clearly anticipating a magnificent end to his evening.
The creature was figuring out whether to limit himself to fingers tonight or pay attention to the feet as well.
Grinding my teeth, I wrapped myself in a Force cocoon and approached the scumbag.
I had an overwhelming urge to grab him by the throat and not bother with this nonsense, but I had to restrain myself.
It wasn’t that I was particularly worried about interference from bystanders — though it wasn’t impossible.
I just didn’t want to get my hands dirty before the time was right.
Actually, I was only now starting to think about my own behavior and the somewhat strange sensations the Force was giving me.
It would be much simpler and more logical to call the local police.
They’d certainly not stand on ceremony with a maniac.
He wasn’t that big a bird.
An ordinary psychopathic sadist.
Bury him or toss him into a prison mine forever, and done — but something was stopping me from doing the right thing.
Maybe it was about the victim?
So what, even if she turned out to be Force-sensitive, what difference did it make?
She’d get freed, no problem.
I could talk to her anytime I wanted.
Strange.
Well, since I’d started this, I’d see it through to the end.
“Mister, got a couple of credits to spare?” a pair of drunkards stopped the late-night maniac.
“O-of course,” the technician bleated and reached into his inner pocket.
While he was fumbling in there, his accomplices exchanged glances, and the second one shook a ball out of his sleeve.
Something like a bearing on a fishing line.
I mentally cursed and asked the Force what kind of meeting-day this was, then used telekinesis to deflect the homemade flail aimed at the maniac’s temple.
That would have definitely killed him.
The intended victim, squealing like a girl seeing a rat, bolted.
The maniac ran headlong, not looking where he was going, screaming almost ultrasonically.
I had to kick into fifth gear too.
Pulling even with the pair of stunned drunkards, I dislocated one’s jaw in gratitude and gave the other’s skull contents a mild concussion.
My paw is heavy — if it hits one ear, the brains are liable to splash out the other.
But every cloud has a silver lining: the thoroughly terrified maniac was hurrying to his den.
For that, I was thanking him, holding back significantly on the force of my blows.
Alas.
The man I was tailing wasn’t in good shape, so after ten minutes, despite fear and adrenaline, he ran out of steam.
He leaned against the wall and gasped for air.
I spat in annoyance and froze in the shadows, simultaneously scanning the area with the Force and asking it: “Why me?” Naturally, I couldn’t make out the answer.
That sort of thing is beyond my level.
I suspect even Yoda himself wouldn’t understand the Great Force’s reply.
The main thing was that neither the maniac nor I were in any danger.
At least not here and now.
Thank goodness for that.
The technician, having caught his breath, reeking of sweat and glancing around nervously — which forced me to grit my teeth and focus hard on averting eyes — finally made it to his lair.
It turned out to be a small workshop adjoining a warehouse box.
Perfect.
Time to act.
“There you are at last!
I’ve been waiting for you for three hours!” I hurried toward the maniac, subtly instilling confidence and calm in him.
“Who are you?
And why have you been waiting for me?” the little bastard asked, not without suspicion, but generally in a friendly tone.
“A client.
You were highly recommended to me as a brilliant specialist who can fix anything in no time.”
“Oh…”
“Yes, yes, of course everything will be paid triple — it’s a matter of reputation for me.” Finger in the air, a business suit, plus mental influence, and the creature pretending to be a human forgot all questions and doubts.
“I see,” he snorted, not even trying to hide his greed.
I could see it on his face — he was planning to charge twice as much and then screw me over.
Mentality, you know.
“Shall we discuss the details?
The sooner you start, the sooner you’ll finish.”
“Of course, come in,” he said.
The last shreds of caution were crushed by greed-fueled pride.
He swiped a keycard over the reader and hospitably swung the doors open.
“Thank you,” I couldn’t help smiling, showing my fangs.
Damn, how much this body was pressing on my brain today.
And I’d been using the Force all day without restraint.
“So, I’m all…”
I assume he was going to say “ears,” but he never got the chance.
I was done with everything.
It was like a line had been crossed or someone had flipped a switch, engaging combat mode.
A backhanded strike and the maniac flew toward the wall.
Thud — his body slid down, eyes rolled back.
A pair of guard droids began sluggishly stirring.
Pfft — sleepy flies.
Lunge.
Strike.
The smell of burnt insulation and the hum of dented metal.
Felt good!
Force-infused fist, reinforced by the Force itself, simply crushed the poor machine’s casing.
The crack of a stun blast went wide.
I jumped.
The drawn sword described a half-circle, and the second guard fell to the floor.
I raised my hand.
Clenched my fist.
Creak.
A couple of dull pops.
“Capacitors blew, maybe?” I wondered briefly, looking at the useless turret that had popped out of a niche in the ceiling half a second ago.
The Force said there was nothing more to fear here.
Still, no reason to relax.
“A miserable evening to you, scum,” I brought the maniac around with a couple of slaps and a minor healing touch.
“Huh?” he stirred weakly, his clouded gaze wandering meaninglessly.
“Feeling better?” I showed concern, involuntarily mimicking the maniac’s own behavior while patching him up with the Force.
“Y-yes,” the type trembled, aware of his situation.
“What…”
“Questions,” I squeezed the victim’s throat with my right hand and grabbed his arm with my left — “Here,” I extended my claws — “I’m the one,” I tightened my grip on the maniac’s hand — “who asks them.
Got it?”
“Y-e-e-s,” he squealed chokedly, not even trying to resist, only tensing his muscles instinctively.
“Let’s go to your torture chamber.”
The command, backed by mental influence and the grip of my paws, had the expected effect.
The whimpering creature, held by the neck with one arm twisted behind its back, shuffled into the inner rooms.
Passing through a short corridor past the kitchen and living quarters, we ended up in a utility-storage room cluttered with junk.
It seemed like the broken little bastard tried to rebel here.
For his great misfortune, I was on guard.
“Ah-ah-ah!” the maniac screamed the moment I squeezed his hand without restraint.
“Does it hurt?” I showed concern, blocking the nerves in his limb, now crushed to mincemeat with bone fragments, with the Force.
“Uh,” was all he could manage through trembling lips, staring at what remained of his hand.
“If you try anything like this again…” I simply lifted the block for a couple of seconds.
Like most sadists, the maniac was completely unable to endure pain.
This is common among such personalities.
In short, he behaved not just like a good boy but tried to please me with all his might.
The bastard understood the police were his best option.
But he shouldn’t have started confessing.
Not only did I have absolutely no desire to know about his victims and difficult childhood, but because of the need to keep the bastard under control, I was practically drowning in the flashing images.
How I held back from killing him — only the Force knows.
Still, credit where credit is due.
This psychopath had professionalism in terms of technical skill and some almost mystical resourcefulness — or maybe just plain luck.
His path had begun when he dismembered the entrepreneur who leased the adjacent warehouse.
Since then, he’d paid the rent in that man’s name, set up a torture chamber, established contacts with local technical schools, regularly taking on interns for practical training — and if some of them disappeared, well, what do you expect?
This is the lower levels.
It happens all the time, especially since no bodies were found and the missing had no relatives.
Finally, the last door opened, and we entered the “holy of holies.” The creature had equipped a genuine bunker.
And it was so insulated that it could probably only be detected with the Force.
Without too much ceremony, I delivered a mental blow and knocked the maniac out.
I noted briefly that I still had a lot of training to do in that area.
But I didn’t have time for the drooling, hallucinating freak.
I needed to free the girl of about seventeen tied to a metal grid.
She seemed to have been hanging there for a long time, but physically she was intact.
“Water,” the poor thing rasped through lips cracked from dehydration.
“Coming,” I helped the girl to the sink and turned on the water.
There wasn’t a glass or any other container.
“Thanks,” she pulled away from the tap and, swaying, leaned her bare chest against me.
Actually, she wasn’t wearing any clothes at all.
“Have a seat,” I helped the girl sit in the chair opposite the grid-covered frame and handed her something like a sheet.
The maniac had used it to cover his wide table of tools.
“Bastard,” the would-be victim hissed like a viper, staring with hatred at the creature crawling on the floor.
I’d casually punched him in the jaw while helping the girl.
“I went to him as an intern.
They told me he was an excellent master.
I’m an orphan, and my brother ran away from the orphanage recently and disappeared.
I thought I’d earn some money, maybe bribe some corporate to find the brat.
I know the orphanage isn’t sugar and generally a nasty place, but it’s not…”
“Uh-huh,” I cut off the rescued girl, who was choking on her own words, and activated my lightsaber.
“Yes!
Kill him!
Monster!
I hate him!” she screamed hysterically, while the maniac, whimpering, scrambled under the table on all fours.
“I’ll kill him,” I nodded, making a swing, “but you won’t see it,” I added, watching the girl’s severed head.
“Uuuh!” the human scum, covered in his own filth, moaned through his broken jaw, clutching at the blade piercing his chest.
A cascade of images.
Everything afterward turned into a kaleidoscope.
I caught myself washing my hands for who knows how many times.
I hit something and plastic shattered.
The pain sobered me.
Briefly.
I tried to wrap myself in a cocoon of the Force, to detach, to recall the supercargo’s work.
Useless.
I growled and punched the wall again and again.
Anger and resentment.
I didn’t understand.
Bewilderment.
Winter.
The road.
Black ice and blizzard.
Unexpectedly, it helped.
The Force surged like a current.
Spun me around.
Froze me out.
Cooled me down.
Good.