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Landing the shuttle near the temple grounds was rather uneventful. There were some small pleasantries as a few of the acolytes and groundskeepers recognized him from his visit a few months back, but Aidan met them with a simple nod and smile, declining to engage in small talk. Instead he went quickly to the medical ward, to the reserved cloning chambers. Aidan had seen these only once before, but once was all it took. His credentials were verified by the computer systems, and it took only a few moments to bring up the medical records for one Sandy Sarna. He went through the proper steps to log her as deceased, which allowed access to begin the cloning process. Machines hummed and buzzed as electricity once again trickled through veins that had gone unused for some time. A medical droid entered to monitor some readouts, Aidan paid it no mind. Instead, he took a cross legged sitting position in front of the cylinder, and began meditating, reaching out through the Force for traces of her. He would be the anchor, the beacon to guide her back. A clone was only a clone, a blank slate, the essence of a person was something much more, inexorably tied to the Force. Seconds bled into minutes bled into hours; Aidan lost all sense of time in this singular focus. At some point, the border between the metaphysical meditation and the unconscious dream blurred, and the young Darkfire finally got some much needed rest.

Ryu listened to the case they made for rejoining the Sith. The specter of his former self, the sadistic demon that stalked the shattered halls of his mind; that was who they came here looking for. They wanted a weapon to crush their foes with, but they had found an emaciated drifter with a broken mind. He had little interest in being used in this way, yet he could see little option but to agree to their terms if he'd hoped to leave this place. Ryu watched as the white armor clad specter walked around between his visitors, unnoticed, unreal. He watched the figure in white lift up the female Sith and toss her off the roof. He watched with a mild sense of terror as body plummeted down the side of the building and splatter on the ground. He blinked and found the specter gone and the Sith still standing where she had been before. The hallucinations were getting worse. Apparently his subconscious was making a suggestion as to how he might escape this situation. Dagon you say.... The name he heard a face he had seen in the dark recesses of his mind, but the details were still hazy to him. He avoided the subject, certain that saying too much would expose his condition and risk a change of heart followed by an execution. He couldn't avoid his past anymore. He would have to face it. "You wanna be friends? Fine. Why don't you show me what good friends you are and find me some pants and equipment?" The wind on the top of the building combined with his hospital gown did not leave him with a great deal of modesty. Ryu tossed the broken bed rail over the edge of the building, then raised his arm as if direct them forward. "Lead on."

THE MANY MINDS OF THE RABID BATTLE SQUIRREL Breaking from the crowds of scurrying civilian traffic about that planet that began to seek cover as soon as salvos began to fly, dozens of hodge-podged needle ships, each unique in size and form but identical in purpose, raced towards the Sith formations. Bloodthirsty high pitched squeaks and squeals called for blood over nearly every comm channel. As they neared the ultra-evil super-big-bad darky-darkness heralding Sith-stinkers, the salvaging experts unleashed their tractor beams. Like furred space-born piranha beetles, they began to ravage the enemy forces. Armored plating and exposed circuitry were torn assunder. Aiming trajectories and sight lines were obscured by the darting ravagers. All the while, any crewman that dared catch the eye of a squib aboard his craft was met with a toothy gaping maw that one need not hear to understand; the squirrel people were there for maximum damage and nothing would stand in their way, not even life. Meanwhile, aboard the Imperial Momship, the green-furred commander, Reaper Joe, surveilled the battlefield. As opening salvos began, he ordered his crews to add their deadly array to the cacophony of chaos. He giggled darkly under his breath. That giggle was cut short; however, as one of his tribesmen called out from her station, alerting the bridge to some sort of odd electrical pulse that seemed to be coursing through the ship. Joe’s eyes narrowed, “The big-bad’s have released bombad demons!” he cried, using a term he had picked up from Gungan spacers some time back. He had liked it. Even if he was not sure what it meant, it had the words bomb and bad in it, so it clearly was meant as some sort of deathly curse. Slapping a large red button on the armrest of his oversized captain’s chair, the green squirrel whirled about to the heavily armored guards standing watch at the entry to the bridge. “Keep the most-terrible demonic forces of bad-baddy demons off the most high holy decks of the commanding commander’s bridge. Make most-quickly alert to all high-squibian royalic securing security forces to find with most hastening the defiling demons and violently violent execute them with extremest of prejudices at most hurried times before we are overcome entirely most by the nether-hell forces in dark space.” The bridge was bathed in rotating red and amber hues as klaxons began to wail throughout the ship. All forces not on duty, for they were Squibs and there were many more of them aboard than allowed by galactic standards, grabbed all manner of weaponry and bits of shielding and armor as they streamed from their nests. They began to swarm the ship searching for the invisible imposter that wrought havoc aboard their holy Momship.