(Ember POV)
Hours had bled together into a pleasant haze of music, smoke, and alcohol. I'd lost count of how many drinks I'd had after the fourth or maybe fifth shot. They had given way to something amber and burning, then something blue that tasted like citrus and regret. The smoking helped keep everything manageable, even as the world took on that slightly dreamlike quality that came.
I moved through the crowd with a smoke between my lips, swaying to the music as I walked. The bass still pounded through the floor, but now it felt like it was part of me, synchronized with my heartbeat and breathing. My purple dress caught the shifting lights, making my crimson skin seem to glow in alternating shades of violet and scarlet.
I stopped keeping track of Taavi and Lyssa somewhere around the third hour. Last I'd seen them, Taavi was dancing enthusiastically with a group near the DJ platform while Lyssa had been cornered by someone asking technical questions about encryption protocols. They'd both given me encouraging waves when I'd indicated I wanted to explore on my own.
The crowd parted around me as I walked. I spotted a cluster of cadets gathered around several tables in a quieter corner of the hall, and curiosity pulled me toward them.
Card games. Multiple groups were playing what looked like different variations of sabacc, pazaak, and other gambling games I didn't immediately recognize. Credits and personal items changed hands with each round, accompanied by groans of defeat or shouts of triumph. The energy around these tables was different from the dance floor—more focused, more intense, with the sharp edge of competition cutting through the alcohol haze.
One group was playing with physical cards, the old-fashioned kind, and I watched for a moment as a human male laid down what was apparently a winning hand. His opponents cursed good-naturedly as they pushed their credits across the table.
Another table had dice actual physical dice, not holographic projections. Someone was shaking dice before she released them across the table's surface. They clattered and bounced, settling into a pattern that made half the watchers cheer and the other half groan.
I grabbed a drink off a passing table as someone set it down something dark and strong-smelling in a short glass. I downed it in one go, feeling the burn slide down my throat and add another layer of warmth to the pleasant buzz already coating my senses. The empty glass got abandoned on another table as I kept moving.
Near one wall, I spotted something that made me pause: a raised platform about waist-high, surrounded by what looked like a shallow pool of water that reflected the hall's shifting lights. On the platform, several cadets were dancing mostly females, though I spotted at least one male among them.
I considered it for a moment. The platform would give a better view of the party, and dancing up there looked... free. Unrestrained. But as I watched one of the dancers execute a move that was definitely more than I was capable of, I shook my head and took another drag from my smoke.
Not for me. At least not tonight.
As I turned away from the dancing platform, something caught my attention—a shift in the crowd's energy toward the back of the hall. Through my Force sight, I could sense a concentration of life signatures forming a rough circle, their collective focus directed inward toward something I couldn't quite see through the press of bodies.
The sound reached me next: the distinctive crack of flesh hitting flesh, followed by a roar of approval from the watching crowd. Then shouting—voices calling out numbers and names, the unmistakable cadence of people placing bets.
A fight.
Interest piqued, I moved toward the disturbance, using my Force sight to find the gaps in the crowd and slip through them. The smoke dangled from my lips as I walked, leaving a thin trail of green vapor in my wake. Several people glanced at me as I passed.
The crowd was thicker here, bodies packed tight in concentric rings around what had to be the fighting space. I pushed through with more force than politeness, earning a few annoyed looks that quickly faded when the objectors got a good look at me or when I traced my fingers across their arms and faces, although a few smacked my hands away with glares.
I broke through to the inner ring and got my first clear view of the makeshift fighting pit.
It wasn't much just a cleared space about five meters in diameter, the surrounding crowd providing the boundaries. The floor was slick with sweat and what might have been blood, though it was hard to tell in the shifting lights. Two figures circled each other in the center, both male, both clearly drunk but managing to maintain enough coordination to actually fight rather than just flail.
One was a human, broad-shouldered and heavily muscled, with the kind of build that suggested he spent more time in the weight room than the tactical training halls. His opponent was something else, leaner but faster, his facial tattoos making his snarls look even more aggressive as he darted in and out of range.
They weren't using proper technique, at least not consistently. I could see flashes of training in their movements, the ghost of proper form, but alcohol and adrenaline had degraded their fighting to something less. Haymaker punches, wild kicks, and grappling attempts that were more wrestling than martial arts.
Still, there was something honest about it. Something real in the way they connected, the solid thump of fists hitting flesh, the grunts of pain and effort that cut through the crowd's noise.
Around the ring, other cadets pressed close, shouting encouragement or derision. Money changed hands constantly as bets were placed and settled, credits flowing through the crowd like an electrical current. I spotted several people with datapads, apparently tracking the betting action officially.
The human landed a solid hit to the man's midsection, doubling him over. The crowd roared approval. The opponent staggered back, his defense dropping, and the human pressed his advantage with a combination that was more enthusiasm than skill but effective nonetheless.
The final blow, a overhand right that telegraphed itself so obviously I could have countered it with my eyes closed caught the drunk on the temple and sent him crashing to the floor. He hit hard, his body going limp instantly, and lay there motionless as the human stood over him, arms raised in victory.
The crowd erupted into a mix of cheers and groans depending on who had bet on whom. Credits changed hands rapidly as people settled their wagers. Two cadets ducked into the ring and grabbed the unconscious Zabrak, dragging him out to the side where someone was waiting with a bucket of water.
They dumped it over his head unceremoniously, and he came sputtering back to consciousness with a stream of what I assumed were creative curses in his native tongue.
"Alright, alright!" A voice cut through the chaos loud, authoritative, clearly used to commanding attention. "Who's next? Come on, don't be shy! We've got an open spot and plenty of credits waiting for anyone brave or stupid enough to step in!"
The speaker was a female Sith Pureblood, tall and striking with the characteristic bone spurs and facial features of her species. She stood at the edge of the ring with a datapad in one hand, clearly the one organizing this whole operation. Her eyes scanned the crowd with the practiced assessment of someone evaluating potential fighters.
I watched as several people in the crowd shifted nervously, probably considering it but ultimately deciding against stepping forward. The human victor was being congratulated by his friends, already celebrating his win with drinks being passed around.
Before I fully processed what I was doing, my hand was in the air.
"I'll fight."
My voice cut through the ambient noise with surprising clarity though I hadn't consciously intended to project it. Every head in the immediate vicinity turned toward me, and I felt the weight of dozens of stares as I stepped forward into the ring.
The Sith Pureblood organizer's eyes widened slightly as she took me in and a smile slowly spread across her face.
"Well, well" she said, her voice carrying amusement and interest in equal measure. "Fresh blood. Literally." She gestured toward the ring. "You sure about this? That's a nice dress you're wearing. Would be a shame to ruin it."
I took one last drag from my smoke before extinguishing it and tucking the dead device into a small pocket hidden in my dress. The day had made everything blend
into a pleasant confidence that made me feel invincible, dangerous, alive in a way that sitting in classrooms or politely socializing never could.
"I'm sure" I said, and stepped fully into the ring.
The human victor my apparent opponent turned to face me. Up close, I could see he was older than me, probably a third or fourth-year cadet, with a jaw like carved stone and eyes that tracked me with the kind of assessment fighters develop. Despite the alcohol I could smell on him, there was intelligence in that gaze.
"You sure about this?" he asked, echoing the organizer's question. His tone wasn't mocking, more genuinely concerned. "No offense, but you don't look like you're dressed for a fight."
"Neither did you when you woke up this morning" I countered, "but here we are."
That got a laugh from the crowd and a grin from my opponent. He raised his hands in a fighter's stance, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. "Alright then. Your funeral."
The organizer stepped between us, one hand raised. "Standard rules—fight continues until someone can't continue, gives up, or I call it. No biting, no eye-gouging, no strikes to the throat or groin. Everything else is fair game." She paused, looking between us. "You both understand?"
My opponent nodded. I did the same.
"Good." She stepped back to the edge of the ring. "Fighters ready?"
The organizer's hand dropped. "Fight!"
The word barely left her lips before my opponent lunged forward, closing the distance between us with surprising speed for someone who'd been drinking. His right fist came straight at my face in a textbook jab—fast, direct, committed.
I brought my left arm up instinctively, blocking the strike with my forearm. The impact jarred through my bones, and the force of it pushed me backward several inches. My heels the elegant, impractical things Taavi had insisted would "complete the look" skidded slightly on the slick floor, threatening my balance.
'Fuck these shoes.'
But I recovered quickly, using the momentum of being pushed back to create space, then immediately closing it again before he could reset. I slipped inside his guard, getting close enough that his longer reach became a disadvantage. My right fist drove into his side, just below the ribs, with all the power I could generate from the rotation of my hips.
I felt the impact connect solidly the satisfying sensation of knuckles meeting flesh, even through the glove's fabric. He grunted, the air leaving his lungs in a sharp exhale.
Even as my punch landed, he was already moving, his elbow coming up and around in a tight arc that I didn't see coming until it was too late.
The point of his elbow caught me square in the mouth.
Pain exploded across my lips and teeth, sharp and immediate. The taste of blood filled my mouth instantly as I staggered backward, one hand coming up instinctively to my face. The crowd's roar became distant, muffled by the ringing in my ears and the shock of the impact.
"Fuck" I mumbled, my words slurred by the rapidly swelling flesh of my lip. "Who the fuck hits someone in the teeth?"
I pulled my gloved hand away from my mouth to look at it. The black fabric was stained dark with blood my blood. A lot of it is already soaking into the material.
And then, despite the pain, despite the blood, I felt it and I smiled.
'Good.'
He threw another punch, this one a cross aimed at my head. I ducked under it, feeling the air be cut as his fist passed over me, and as I came up from the crouch, I pivoted on my left heel—these fucking shoes—and drove my right foot into his thigh.
The kick wasn't perfect. The heels made my footing unstable, and I couldn't generate as much power as I wanted. But it connected solidly enough, my shin cracking against the meat of his quad with a sound that carried even over the crowd's noise.
I pressed forward, not giving him time to recover. Vex's voice echoed in my head: Never let them reset. Never give them breathing room.
I threw a left jab to keep his hands up, right cross aimed at his jaw. But the alcohol and these damned heels betrayed me. My foot slipped on someone's spilled drink, throwing off my balance just enough that the cross went wide, grazing his cheek instead of landing clean.
He took advantage immediately, grabbing my extended arm and pulling me off-balance while simultaneously throwing a knee toward my midsection.
I twisted, trying to avoid the full impact, but only partially succeeded. The knee caught me in the side, not the solar plexus where he'd aimed, but enough to drive the air from my lungs and send fresh pain radiating through my ribs.
We broke apart, both breathing hard now. The crowd was pumped I could sense their energy, a roiling mass of excitement and bloodlust that fed back into my own adrenaline.
He feinted high, then came in low, trying for a takedown. His arms wrapped around my waist, and for a moment, I felt myself being lifted off the ground.
'Absolutely fucking not.'
I brought my elbow down hard on the back of his neck once, twice, three times in rapid succession. The third strike made him drop me, and I landed badly, one heel snapping under my weight with a crack.
I managed to kick off both shoes as my opponent straightened, his hand going to the back of his neck where I'd struck him.
We circled each other, both reassessing. The fight had gone longer than his previous one, and I could see fatigue starting to set in for him. The earlier bout, combined with whatever he'd drunk afterward, was taking its toll.
He came at me again, throwing a wide hook but I slipped inside the of his punch, moving to his left side and drove my knee up into his ribs. The impact folded him slightly, and I followed with an uppercut that caught him under the chin. His head snapped back, and I saw his eyes lose focus for a split second.
I pressed the advantage throwing combinations of mixed body shots and head strikes. My gloves were both stained with blood now his and mine, I couldn't tell which was which anymore.
But he was tough, I had to give him that. He weathered the assault, his arms coming up to protect his head, and when I tried to follow with another body shot, he countered with a push kick that caught me square in the chest.
The force of it sent me flying backward, my bare feet losing contact with the floor entirely. I crashed into the ring of spectators, bodies pressing around me, hands grabbing at me to prevent me from falling completely.
And then they pushed.
Hard.
I shot back into the center of the ring like I'd been launched from a catapult, completely off-balance, arms windmilling as I tried to regain control of my trajectory.
But training took over. Even drunk, even disoriented, my body remembered what Sera had drilled into me during Jetpack training: "Never waste energy fighting against physics."
Instead of trying to stop my forward motion, I leaned into it. As I came back at my opponent who was just starting to recover from throwing that kick I jumped.
Not high, just enough to get my feet off the ground and add gravity to what I was about to do.
My right fist came around in a punch, all of my body weight and momentum behind it, aimed at his temple. I could see his face flare with alarm as he realized what was happening, see him try to bring his guard up, try to move his head out of the way.
Too slow.
My gloved fist connected with the side of his head. The impact traveled up my arm, through my shoulder, reverberating in my bones.
His eyes rolled back immediately. His legs went out from under him like someone had cut his strings. He dropped straight down, hitting the floor hard enough that I felt the impact through the soles of my feet.
The crowd exploded into noise screaming, cheering, shouting. Money changed hands in a frenzy as bets were settled. Someone was yelling my name, though I hadn't remembered telling anyone what it was.
I stood over my fallen opponent, breathing hard, my chest heaving with exertion. Blood dripped from my split lip onto the floor, spattering next to his unconscious form. My gloves were ruined, the elegant black fabric now stained dark and wet.
My side throbbed. My lip felt like it had swollen to twice its normal size. My feet hurt from fighting barefoot on the hard floor.
And I felt absolutely fucking incredible.
The Sith Pureblood organizer was suddenly beside me, grabbing my wrist and raising my arm high. "Winner!" she declared, and the crowd's noise somehow got even louder.
Someone was already dragging my opponent to the side where the bucket of water waited. Someone else was pressing credits into my hand. The organizer leaned in close, her voice cutting through the noise. "That was beautiful. Absolutely brutal. You want another fight? I've got three people already asking to take you on."
I looked down at my ruined gloves, felt the throb of my split lip, and the ache in my ribs. Felt the alcohol still swirling through my system, combining with the adrenaline to make everything feel sharp and perfect and dangerous.
Behind me, someone dumped the water over my former opponent's head. He came sputtering back to consciousness, immediately grabbing his head and groaning.
I pulled my wrist free from the organizer's grip and stumbled slightly.
"Maybe later, need another drink first."
I spotted my abandoned shoes on the floor one intact, one broken. I left them there. Didn't need them anymore.
As I pushed through the crowd, heading back toward the bar, I caught my reflection in one of the hall's polished surfaces. My purple dress was somehow still mostly intact, though splattered with blood. My gloves were destroyed. My hair had come loose from whatever style it had been in. Blood still trickled from my split lip, and I could see it staining my teeth when I smiled.
I looked like I'd been through a war.
I looked perfect.
"Ember!"
Taavi's voice cut through the noise, and I turned to see her and Lyssa pushing through the crowd toward me, their expressions mixing shock and concern, and something that might have been pride oddly.
"What the hell happened to you?" Lyssa asked, her eyes wide as she took in my appearance.
"Made some new friends" I said, my split lip making the words come out slightly off.
Taavi shook her head letting out a scoff "You're absolutely insane. You know that, right?"
"Been told worse" I replied, letting them help guide me toward the bar. My feet were starting to register the damage from fighting barefoot but I already left my shoes behind. Each step sent little jolts of discomfort up my legs, but nothing I couldn't handle.
We reached the bar and managed to find a small opening between groups of celebrating cadets. The bartender a different one than before spotted us within a few moments and started to make his way over.
I turned, instinctively tensing, my body preparing for another fight as the same man from before kept getting closer.
It was the guy I'd just fought, along with three of his friends. Up close and conscious, I could see him more clearly human, probably mid-twenties, with a jaw that was already starting to bruise where I'd hit him. He was pressing a cold compress to the side of his head where my final punch had landed.
"Relax" he said, holding up his free hand in a peaceful gesture. "Just wanted to say that was a hell of a fight. And, you know, buy you and your friends some drinks. Least I can do after you kicked my ass in front of half the Academy."
Taavi and Lyssa exchanged glances, clearly trying to figure something out, but I was too drunk and couldn't really find myself to care much either way.
"Sure" I said. "Drinks sound good."
The guy grinned, then winced as the expression pulled at his bruised face. "Name's Kade, by the way. Kade Verant. Third-year, tactical operations track." He gestured to his friends. "This is my crew Dex, Sura, and Miko."
Introductions were made, hands shaken.
"What're you drinking?" Kade asked, turning to signal the bartender.
"Whatever's strong and fast" I replied, wiping more blood from my lip with the back of my ruined glove.
He laughed. "Woman after my own heart. Four dustships shots! No, make it eight. Four for them, four for us."
The bartender moved with practiced efficiency, lining up eight shot glasses and filling them with that rust red-liquid that seemed to sink into the glass. As he worked, Kade leaned against the bar next to me, his compress still pressed to his head.
"That last hit" he said, shaking his head. "Where'd you learn to throw a punch like that? That wasn't street fighting that was trained."
"Here and there" I said vaguely, not particularly interested in discussing Vex's training regimen with a stranger, no matter how friendly he seemed.
The bartender finished pouring and slid the shots across the bar. Kade grabbed two of them, one in each hand, his palms covering the tops of the glasses completely.
I watched him through my Force sight as he walked the few steps back to me, and something about the way he was holding those drinks made my instincts prickle. What dumbass hold glasses like that? Palms completely covering the tops?
He handed me one of the glasses, keeping the other for himself.
"To good fights and better fighters" he said, raising his glass.
I raised mine in response, my mind working through the haze. Maybe I was being paranoid. Maybe the fight had me seeing threats where there weren't any.
Either way, there was only one way to find out.
I tipped the glass back and downed the shot in one go,the sweet flavor let the drink go down without issue. And then I felt it something solid hitting my tooth on the way down. Small, dissolving quickly but not quite fast enough to completely hide its presence.
There it is.
I smiled around the glass, feeling the object slide down my throat even as part of it left a bitter chemical taste on my tongue.
My modifications included some changes over the years with my organs, something the good Doctor insisted he must explain during one of our sessions. It was part of what made my body process the smoking devices' compounds so effectively. It also meant I could metabolize most drugs faster than normal humans, including date rape drugs. I'd be fine in an hour, maybe less.
But Kade didn't know that.
I shifted the glass into my other hand, my movements deliberate and controlled despite the alcohol making everything slightly fuzzy around the edges. My hand went to my clutch or where my clutch should have been.
'Where did I put that thing?'
I patted myself down, checking the hidden pocket in my dress where I usually kept things. Empty. The clutch had disappeared somewhere during the fight or my wandering before. Which meant my credits, my ID chit, my emergency comlink all gone.
But I found something else. One last smoke, tucked into a different pocket, the metal cylinder cool against my fingers.
I pulled it out, rolling it between my fingers as I looked at Kade. He was watching me with that careful expression, the kind people got when they were waiting to see if their plan was working.
And then the music cut out.
The sudden silence was jarring, causing hundreds of conversations to stutter and die as people looked around in confusion. The DJ's voice boomed through the speakers, but this time there was none of the playful energy from before. This was pure urgency.
"Attention! Station security has been alerted and is en route! You have approximately two minutes to vacate the premises! I repeat two minutes until security arrives! Move, people!"
The party exploded into chaos. People started shoving toward the exits, panic spreading through the crowd like wildfire. The organized betting rings collapsed instantly, credits being shoved into pockets, datapads hastily powered down. The cadets who'd been providing security were already abandoning their posts, melting into the fleeing crowd.
Perfect.
I shifted my grip on the empty glass in my hand, holding it by the rim now instead of the base.
"Hey" I said quietly, my voice barely carrying over the chaos of people scrambling toward the exits.
Kade leaned in closer, probably thinking I was about to ask for help, about to show the first signs of whatever that pill was supposed to do to me. His expression was neutral.
I pulled out my last smoke, the metal cylinder cool against my fingers. With my free hand, I cracked it three times along its seams—click-click-click—the familiar activation sequence that had become as natural as breathing. I brought it to my lips and inhaled deeply, more than I usually would, feeling the vapor expand in my lungs and mix with the alcohol and smoke already flooding my system.
As I inhaled, my free hand moved up to Kade's chest, fingers trailing along his shirt in what I hoped looked like a flirtatious gesture. His eyes tracked the movement, his attention divided between my hand and my face, clearly confused about what was happening.
My fingers found the fabric of his collar and curled into it, getting a solid grip. His confusion shifted toward alarm as he realized but it was to late.
I yanked him forward by his shirt, pulling him off-balance and directly into my personal space. At the same time, I exhaled hard releasing the smoke directly into his face in a cloud that engulfed his head completely. The effect was immediate. His eyes went wide, then immediately began to water as the compounds hit him, He tried to jerk bac, tried to pull away, but my grip on his shirt held firm. He inhaled reflexively, drawing some of that vapor into his lungs, and I saw the moment it hit his system.
And then I brought the glass around.
The empty shot glass in my other hand came up in a tight arc, all my body weight behind it, and smashed into his temple.
The glass exploded on impact, fragmenting into dozens of pieces that sprayed across the bar and surrounding area. The sound was incredible like a small detonation, but it was still mostly drowned out by the chaos of the evacuating party. The impact traveled up my arm, the satisfying shock of a clean hit.
Kade's eyes rolled back immediately. His legs went out from under him and he dropped like a marionette with cut strings, hitting the floor in a boneless heap.
I released his shirt and let him fall, dropping the jagged remains of the broken glass beside him. Blood was already welling from the cut on his temple where the glass had split skin.
The smoke dangled from my lips as I straightened up, took one more drag, then held it between two fingers as I surveyed the immediate area before letting it drop onto Kade's body. Kade's three friends were staring at me with expressions ranging from shock to rage. Around us, other cadets had stopped their panicked exodus to see what had caused that noise.
Perfect audience.
I raised my voice projecting it as much as I can over the chaos. "BAR FIGHT!"
The effect was like dropping a match into a fuel leak.
The Imperial Intelligence Academy attracted a certain type of person. Aggressive, competitive, trained for violence and often looking for an excuse to use those skills. A sanctioned bar fight? That was practically a gift.
Within seconds, three separate altercations broke out in my immediate vicinity. Someone threw a punch at someone else over a perceived slight. Two cadets who'd apparently been waiting for an excuse to settle a grudge immediately started grappling. A bottle shattered somewhere to my left.
And Dex one of Kade's friends, the big one with the shaved head and the scar on his jaw came at me with murder in his eyes.
His fist came around in a wide haymaker, all his considerable mass behind it. The kind of punch that would shatter bone if it connected, that would put me down and keep me down.
THUMP-THUMP
My heart gave that strange double-beat, that hard spike of rhythm that felt like something fundamental shifting in my chest. And the world...
Dex's punch, which had been coming at me with frightening speed, suddenly seemed to slow. Not stop, not freeze, but move through some invisible resistance that gave me all the time in the galaxy to react. I could track every detail, the rotation of his massive shoulder, the extension of his arm, the way his weight committed forward onto his lead foot.
Even the sounds around me stretched and deepened the shouts and crashes of the spreading bar fight becoming bass-heavy and distorted.
I stepped.
My body responded with liquid smoothness, faster than it should have been able to, faster than alcohol should have allowed. I ducked under Dex's punch easily, watching it sail harmlessly over my head in that strange slow-motion. The wind of its passage ruffled my hair.
As I came up from the duck, my fist was already in motion. I drove it up into his exposed ribs with every ounce of force I could generate. The impact landing exactly where I'd intended.
THUMP-THUMP
Another double-beat, and suddenly everything snapped back to normal speed.
Time resumed its regular flow. Sound returned to its proper pitch. And Dex folded like he'd been hit by a speeder, the air driven from his lungs in an explosive wheeze. His hands went to his side where I'd struck him, his face contorting in agony.
He went down hard, hitting the floor and curling into a fetal position, trying desperately to draw breath.
I straightened up and couldn't help but smile.
'What the hell was that?'
Through the chaos around me, I caught glimpses of the spreading violence. Two cadets were wrestling on the floor. Someone had grabbed a bottle and was using it as a club. Three people were throwing wild punches in a confused melee that seemed to have no clear sides or objectives.
And station security was less than two minutes away.
Sura was circling toward me now, her hands up in a fighter's stance, her facial tattoos stark against her green skin in the hall's pulsing lights,looking like she had actual training unlike Dex's approach.
_____________________________________
(Taavi POV)
I watched the whole thing unfold like some kind of fever dream.
One moment, Ember was leaning in close to that Kade guy, her hand trailing up his shirt in what looked like wait, was she actually flirting with him? After he'd just bought us drinks? After she'd literally knocked him unconscious less than an hour ago?
But then I saw it. The way her fingers curled into his collar. The way she pulled him forward with that same efficiency she'd shown in the fighting ring. And the smoke that weird metallic cylinder she was always using coming up to her lips.
"Oh shit" I breathed, but my words were lost in the chaos of people scrambling for the exits as the DJ's warning about station security continued to echo.
Ember exhaled directly into Kade's face, a thick cloud of green vapor engulfing his head. And then—crack—the shot glass came around and exploded against his temple in a spray of fragmenting glass that caught the strobing lights like tiny diamonds.
He dropped instantly, hitting the floor hard enough that I felt the impact through my feet.
"BAR FIGHT!" Ember's voice cut through the pandemonium with startling clarity, projecting in a way that made my lekku twitch with sympathetic resonance.
And just like that, everything went absolutely insane.
The DJ, bless him immediately understood the assignment. The warning announcement cut off mid-loop, and suddenly the speakers were blasting combat music, something with a driving beat and aggressive synthesizers that made violence feel not just acceptable but necessary. The lights shifted from their party configuration to something more chaotic—rapid strobes in red and white that fragmented movement and made everything look like stop-motion animation.
"Taavi, we need to get out of here!" Lyssa grabbed my arm, her voice high with panic.
"In a second!" I shouted back, unable to tear my eyes away from what was happening.
Fights were breaking out everywhere. Two cadets to my left were already grappling on the floor. Someone threw a bottle that shattered against the wall. A table got flipped, drinks and credits flying everywhere.
And then someone came charging at me with his fist already cocked back.
'Really? Now?'
I didn't even think about it. My right hand came up and batted his incoming punch aside not blocking it, just redirecting it past me with minimal effort. His momentum carried him forward, off-balance, and I grabbed his face with my left hand. My fingers splayed across his features, my palm pressing into his nose, and I just... pushed.
I was strong. Heavier-world genetics combined with months of strength training meant I could handle significantly more weight than most my size. The guy probably massed eighty kilos. I pivoted on my back foot, used his own momentum against him, and threw.
He went airborne for a solid meter before hitting the floor and sliding another two, taking out someone else's legs in the process.
"Holy shit" Lyssa muttered beside me, having apparently decided that if we weren't leaving immediately, she might as well watch.
"I know, right?" I said, but I wasn't looking at the guy I'd just thrown. I was looking at Ember.
She was fighting one of Kade's friends—the big one with the shaved head. I'd seen him around campus before; he had a reputation for being tough, for winning fights through sheer physical dominance.
He threw a haymaker at Ember that should have taken her head off.
And something... weird... happened.
In the strobing lights, with the chaos and the music and the screaming, it was hard to be sure what I was seeing. But for just a second it looked like Ember moved faster than she should have been able to. Like she'd been running at normal speed and then suddenly shifted into overdrive. She ducked under the punch with liquid smoothness, her body flowing like water, and came up with an uppercut to the guy's ribs that made an audible thump.
The lights strobed again. white, red, white, red. Fragmenting everything into discrete snapshots of violence. In one flash, Ember was standing over the fallen guy. In the next, she was in a fighting stance facing another opponent. In the third, she was already in motion.
And there it was again. That strange quality to her movement. In the regular rhythm of the strobes, everyone else's motion looked consistent you could track their trajectories, predict where they'd be in the next flash of light. But Ember... Ember seemed to speed up and slow down unpredictably. One moment she'd be moving at normal speed, the next she'd be somewhere she shouldn't have been able to reach that quickly.
It was subtle. If I hadn't been watching her specifically, if I hadn't been sober, if the lights hadn't been creating that stroboscopic effect, I might not have noticed it at all.
But I was watching. And I did notice.
"Something's happening with her," I said, more to myself than to Lyssa. "Something's... off. Or maybe on? I don't know, but—"
A female one of Kade's group engaged Ember, and they started trading blows. The Mirialan had technique, I could see that even from here. Clean strikes, good footwork, proper defense.
Flash—Ember was blocking. Flash—she was striking. Flash—she was already three steps to the side, positioned perfectly for her next attack.
"What the hell is she?" I breathed.
More fights were breaking out around us. The bar fight had spread like a virus through the remaining party-goers, everyone either fleeing or fighting with about equal distribution. Someone crashed into the bar itself, sending bottles flying. Two Zabrak males were engaged in what looked like a surprisingly technical grappling match. A group of four people were involved in a confused melee that had no clear sides or objectives.
And through it all, the music pounded and the lights strobed and the DJ kept shouting encouragement like this was all planned entertainment.
Movement in my peripheral vision made me turn my head. A chair one of the portable ones from near the card tables was flying through the air, spinning end over end, clearly thrown by someone with serious strength behind it.
It was heading in a general arc that would take it... well, somewhere in the vicinity of multiple fights, actually. Hard to tell exactly where it would land with all the chaos.
I reached up and caught it.
The impact jarred through my arms, the weight of it pulling at my shoulders, but my heavy-world strength meant I could handle it. I pivoted, using the momentum, whirling in a full circle to bleed off the kinetic energy while simultaneously building up my own.
One rotation. Two. The chair became an extension of my body, spinning with me, and I could see exactly where I needed to throw it.
Ember was engaged with the Mirialan, and behind them, one of Kade's other friends was getting up from where he'd been knocked down, clearly about to jump into the fight from behind.
Perfect target.
I released the chair at the apex of my third rotation, sending it flying toward Ember's fight with all the force I could generate. It sailed through the strobing darkness, spinning like a deadly discus, aimed perfectly at the guy trying to blindside my friend.
A random cadet, completely uninvolved in Ember's fight, stumbled backward from his own altercation with someone else, moving directly into the chair's trajectory.
CRACK
The chair hit him square in the back with devastating force, sending him sprawling forward into yet another group of fighters and triggering an entirely new brawl as they assumed he'd attacked them.
"Oops" I said, but I couldn't help grinning. This was absolute chaos, the kind of beautiful disaster that you'd remember for years.
Lyssa was staring at me with wide eyes. "Did you just"
"Accident!" I said quickly. "Totally an accident. He walked into it."
"Taavi, that's not how physics—"
"Look, Ember's still fighting!"
It was a shameless deflection, but it worked. We both turned back to watch as Ember continued her battle with the Mirialan female.
It was a shameless deflection, but it worked. We both turned back to watch as Ember continued her battle with the Mirialan female.
And there it was again. That strange quality to her movement. In one strobe flash, the Mirialan was throwing a kick. In the next, Ember had somehow moved inside its arc, too close for the kick to land effectively, and was already countering with a strike to the body.
Could she see the future?
The thought was absurd even as it formed. I shook my head, my lekku twitching with the motion, dismissing the idea as quickly as it had come. Force sensitivity was rare, and precognition even rarer. The odds of me randomly befriending someone with that kind of ability were astronomical.
No. Whatever Ember was doing whatever those bursts of speed were it had to be something else. Genetic modification, maybe. Some kind of enhanced reflexes or accelerated perception. The Empire had the technology for that kind of thing, even if they didn't advertise it.
I'd always been good at reading people, at identifying talent and potential. It was one of the reasons I'd done so well at the Academy despite being one of the younger arrivals. You didn't survive Imperial Intelligence by being the strongest or the fastest you survived by building networks, by knowing who to ally with, by collecting valuable people around you like tools in a kit.
And Ember? Ember was going to be an extremely valuable tool.
The Mirialan stayed down, clutching her side where Ember had landed that final combination. Through the strobing lights, I watched as Ember straightened up, scanning the chaos around her with that same predatory awareness she'd shown all night.
And then I saw them converging.
Three more of Kade's friends or maybe just random cadets who'd seen their buddy get humiliated and wanted revenge, it was hard to tell in the chaos were moving toward Ember from different angles. They weren't coordinating, exactly, but the effect was the same. She was about to be surrounded.
Ember saw them too. Even through the distance and the strobing lights and the general chaos of the spreading bar fight, I could see the moment her posture shifted. She was still smiling but there was calculation behind it now. She was assessing angles, counting opponents, preparing for what came next.
She started moving backward, not running but retreating strategically, keeping all three potential attackers in her field of view. Her path took her back toward the bar, using the solid structure as a way to limit the angles they could approach from.
"She's going to get swarmed," Lyssa said beside me, her voice tight with concern. "Taavi, we should—"
"Help her" I finished, already moving. "Yeah, I know."
We pushed through the chaos, dodging fights and flying debris. Someone grabbed at my arm, a man who was either trying to steady himself or pick a fight, I couldn't tell which and I shoved him away without breaking stride. My strength made casual violence almost effortless.
Lyssa was lighter, faster, slipping through gaps in the crowd that I had to force my way through. But we were both heading in the same direction, converging on where Ember had her back to the bar and three opponents spreading out to flank her.
The first one came at her from the right, throwing a wild haymaker that had more enthusiasm than technique. Ember slipped it easily, her head moving just enough to let the fist pass by her face, and countered with a short, sharp elbow to his ribs. The guy folded, staggering back, and.
There. That flicker again. That moment where Ember seemed to move just slightly faster than she should have been able to, repositioning herself before the second attacker could capitalize on her being committed to the first strike.
We were still five meters away, pushing through the crowd, when I heard it.
CRACK
The sound was like a thunderclap, impossibly loud even over the music and the fighting and the general chaos. The main entrance doors, massive reinforced things designed to contain a party or seal in an emergency were blown inward with devastating force.
The music cut out instantly, replaced by a synthesized voice that boomed through the hall's speaker system with mechanical authority:
"STATION SECURITY. CEASE ALL HOSTILE ACTIVITY IMMEDIATELY. ANYONE CONTINUING TO ENGAGE IN VIOLENCE WILL BE STUNNED AND DETAINED."
'Oh shit!'
Through the blown entrance, I could see them pouring in at least twenty security personnel in full riot gear, helmets with opaque visors, stun batons in hand, and what looked like stun rifles slung across their backs. They moved with professional efficiency, spreading out to establish a perimeter, their formations practiced and coordinated.
This wasn't a couple of security guards coming to break up a party. This was a full tactical response team.
Someone had really pissed off station command.
The security forces began advancing into the hall, and immediately the tenor of the chaos shifted. Fights that had been going strong seconds ago broke apart as people realized the situation had escalated beyond drunk brawling. Cadets started scrambling for any exit they could find service doors, emergency hatches, anything that wasn't the main entrance currently controlled by security.
But not everyone was running.
Some were still fighting, either too drunk or too committed or too stupid to recognize when the game had changed. I watched as one of the security officers raised his stun baton and casually struck a human male who'd thrown a punch at another cadet. The man dropped instantly, his body seizing as the electrical charge overloaded his nervous system.
I grabbed Lyssa's arm, pulling us both toward the nearest wall, trying to get out of the main flow of traffic and make ourselves look nonthreatening. "Don't run" I said quietly, urgently. "Just stay calm, hands visible, don't give them a reason to attack us."
And then I saw one of the security officers near the front of the formation, someone who looked like they were in command based on the extra markings on their armor reach for something on their belt.
I knew that shape. I'd seen it in tactical training classes.
Flashbang.
"Lyssa, close your eyes!" I yanked her toward me, pulling her face against my chest and wrapping my arms around her head. My lekku curled protectively around my own neck as I hunched over her, turning my back toward where I'd seen the officer.
But even as I moved to protect Lyssa, even as I squeezed my eyes shut, I couldn't help taking one last look toward the bar where I'd last seen Ember.
The strobing party lights had died with the music, replaced by harsh white emergency lighting that painted everything in stark relief. And in that clear, unforgiving illumination, I saw her.
Ember was on top of the bar itself now, somehow having gotten up there in the seconds since I'd last looked. One of her attackers must have followed her up because she was in the middle of kicking him a brutal front kick that caught him square in the chest and sent him flying backward off the bar to crash into the crowd below.
She then fell backward, dropping behind the bar in what looked like a controlled fall, disappearing from view just as that security officer's arm came forward.
I slammed my eyes shut.
Even through my closed eyelids, even with my face turned away and buried against Lyssa's head, I saw the flash. Brilliant white light that seemed to pierce straight through flesh and bone, accompanied by a sound like reality itself being torn apart a sharp, percussive BANG that made my ears ring and my lekku ache with sympathetic vibration.
The effect was immediate and devastating. Even though I'd closed my eyes in time, even though I'd turned away, the afterimage was burned into my vision a bright spot that refused to fade, leaving me effectively blind.
Around me, I heard screams and thuds as people who'd been looking in the wrong direction dropped like puppets with cut strings, their visual and auditory systems completely overloaded.
I kept my eyes squeezed shut, counting seconds, waiting for the worst of it to pass. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty. Finally, I risked opening them just slightly, squinting through my lashes to see if it was safe.
The hall was a disaster zone. Bodies everywhere—some unconscious from stun batons, others writhing on the floor clutching their heads, a few trying unsuccessfully to stand on legs that wouldn't support them. The security forces were moving through the chaos systematically, stunning anyone who showed signs of continued resistance and zip-tying the hands of those already down.
And then another sound cut through the chaos. Different from before. Not the synthesized security announcement, but something a station-wide alert that made my blood run cold.
WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP
Emergency klaxons, the kind they used for critical situations. Decompression warnings. Hull breaches. Or
A new synthesized voice, this one carrying the flat authority of the station's central AI:
"ATTENTION. UNSCHEDULED HYPERSPACE EVENT DETECTED IN SECTOR SEVEN-GAMMA. INITIATING LOCKDOWN PROTOCOL DELTA-SIX. ALL PERSONNEL REMAIN IN CURRENT LOCATIONS. ALL DOCKING BAYS SEALED. ALL DEPARTURES SUSPENDED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. THIS IS NOT A DRILL."