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WHO: Starkiller

almostprimal and Darth Vader

breathingsounds
WHERE: Outside the Porter building.
WHEN: Right after this post.
WARNINGS: I LIED THERE IS HORRIBLE VIOLENCE
SUMMARY: B( Life sucks then you die, and then life sucks all over again.
FORMAT: Paragraph!

Starkiller thought he'd been done. He thought his last, great act of defiance would have freed him from Vader, from the Empire and from the Sith, from everything. He beat the man, he broke a building around them and dropped it onto Vader, he had won.

But the wild, adrenaline driven bravado, the sound of Juno's voice in his ears and the righteous cause he fought for were only echoes in this place that held nothing for him. It didn't erase the years of fear and of anger, of Vader and the dark side being the only things he had known. According to Vader, in the end, it hadn't done anything.

It wasn't fair. He was supposed to be a Jedi now, wasn't he? Whatever that really, actually meant. But he couldn't fight a battle with no goal, he wasn't sure how. He couldn't defy Vader indomitable will without a reason, without the rebel alliance or Juno or General Kota. His sense of self-worth had never been that strong. He had never been that strong.

So he did what he'd always done, shamefaced and with an angry, sickly feeling in the pit of his stomach; he followed his orders. It didn't take much to sense and seek out Vader's immense, familiar presence in the Force, and it didn't take long to reach the Porter building on the back of a- motorbike, or whatever it had been called. He'd taken it off a violent criminal that he'd murdered in an alley, a week or so ago, when he'd still been following the Porter's orders to be a hero... in the only way he really understood how.

"... Master." The word tasted like ash in his mouth, and he turned the roaring engine off. He thought that Juno had given him the strength to be free, but he was starting to think she'd only given him the strength to fool himself for a little while.

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Vader was supremely skilled in using people. It was a skill that he had acquired over the years, a lifetime of being used and using others both, and Starkiller....

Ah, Starkiller was almost entirely his creation.

He had taken the boy when he was still young and had molded him, trained him, shaping him into something that was in ways barely even human any more, something that was merely a weapon, a tool, and a highly useful one. Until, of course, Starkiller had turned on his master - but Starkiller was his, and nothing would ever change that. Even now he seemed to recognize that, and to become again what he had been raised to, what he had been trained to. The perfect apprentice; the perfect tool. Blindly trusting, blindly obedient, supremely skilled. Completely loyal. This last trait had suffered a heavy blow when Starkiller had turned his loyalties to another, but that other was gone here, and it seemed it would be a small matter indeed to turn him back to where he should be. Perhaps, in time, he'd be able to correct his foolish obsession as well.

If Vader could have smiled, darkly, at the one-word greeting as Starkiller rode up next to him, he might have. Instead his voice was rich with dark satisfaction. "It appears you have returned to me, my apprentice. Just as you always have been destined to."

His attention briefly shifted to the machine - so many machines here, and all of them primitive. Groundcars had slid past him as he waited, overhead some form of aircraft had roared through the sky. Everything seemed so slow. "What is this machine?" It was a speeder-bike, almost, but instead of an antigrav generator it was equipped with wheels, black rubber tires textured in zig-zags.

He vaguely remembers the things he'd felt on Kashyyyk, the brief glimmers of life he once had before Vader came, but they weren't enough to argue over. Vader was right: he had been cut down too many times, but he always came back. Maybe it really was his fate.

What was wrong with him?

He schooled his expression and slid silently off the bike when Vader's attention turned toward it so it stands between them, a clunky monument to everything inefficient about this planet. What is it? "Slow," he mutters with considerable distaste- his life at Vader's hands may have been one constant stream terrible things, but at least Starkiller had always been given the the fastest, shiniest toys when sent out to do his Master's bidding. He really, really misses his beautiful, compact starship, right now. "It's called a 'motorcycle.'"

"A motorcycle...." Vader was very still for a long moment as he seemed to hold the word on his tongue, tasting it. He didn't seem to find it to his liking. His weighted cape folded itself around his form and legs, and was the only visible movement. "Is what is visible from here a true cross-section of the technology available in this place? I have seen no vehicles except these... groundcars, and an occasional... device, which in some ways resembles this motorcycle, but slimmer, and apparently powered by foot. The buildings are all stunted, for a city of this magnitude, and if there are any droids they have thus far been extremely well camouflaged."

"Yes." A pause- his eyes flickered down the street and then back, but never quite up at Vader. He wasn't sure what a bike was called so he didn't comment on it, because he'd never bothered to ask any of the locals: if anything, the thing was even less appealing than the motorcycle he'd been driving around lately. "It's worse outside the City's limits."

He'd spent so long in space, in the bowls of a starship, that being trapped planet-side for a month was starting to get to him. It was too much freedom, without a specific goal to strive for, and he barely knew what to do with it. It was maddening, after spending so much time in near isolation growing up that he'd learned to almost like it, he could nearly appreciate the familiarity of Vader's crushing presence and horrible mechanic breathing, and the way it drowned almost everything else in the City out.

Nearly.

At the very least he finally did manage to look directly up at the man. So there. You gotta take the small victories where you can get them. "And they don't seem to have the capacity to construct droids."

Vader looked around with something like contempt in the angle of his head, the stance of his body. He was a hard man to read, being engulfed in a protective shell of body armor as he was, but not impossible for those who'd had the time to get to know him and the peculiar way his emotions manifested themselves. He was, after all, far from emotionless. "And this is the place equipped with technology advanced enough to kidnap and expect to hold me, in addition to whoever else has been taken? Are all of these people from off-world as well, or are some natives?

"I'm assuming that they have not yet achieved independent space travel."

Well, there is probably no right answer to the first question ('we've been completely outdone by technological relics' doesn't seem like the smartest thing to come out and say, especially considering the mood Vader is in), so Starkiller just carefully nods. "The transporter is an anomaly." His fingers twitch at his sides. "Only a few hundred are off-worlders, brought here like you."

He remembers one imPort mentioning a spaceship days ago, but he has nothing against the person who seems to own it- he can't imagine the guy has done anything to deserve Vader's wrath. He doesn't even debate not bringing it up; withholding information is about the only act of defiance he can muster at the moment. "The farthest the natives have been is to their own moon."

The contempt is back again, as is something that might have been amusement were this anyone else. But Vader didn't tend to feel many of the positive emotions, not any more. It's a mood that's more a promise of pain than most of his. "And I was brought here to be a 'hero', because the incompetence of the natives. The computer is hardly persuasive in its instructions." Contempt. Contempt and some anger - a ridiculous name.

"A few hundred on the planet? Does the network provided by this... thing stretch around Terra? Earth? These fools should standardize their names."

Having been on the receiving end of plenty of pain from Vader over the years, Starkiller is wary about that tone. He almost takes a step back, but manages to steel himself and stand his ground - his pride has taken enough hits from his Master today, he'll be avoiding any more if he can help it.

He's also totally not going to be admitting to the fact that he'd gladly played hero while he had the chance.

"Yes." A pause. "People also seem to have trouble with it turning on and broadcasting on its own." It's almost like a bad-tempered droid that way.

A wonderful plan, Starkiller. The only problem is that you still need to be put back in your place, and reminded very definitively of where that is. Starkiller, after all, had a regrettable history of occasionally overstepping those boundaries and needed to be kept in check. This last time had been the most notable, and what Vader was most eager to prevent a repeat of.

Vader did not see himself as the villain, not particularly, though he didn't really see himself as the hero any more either. Such concepts were foolish constructs of society and did not truly exist. There was evil, but it tended to be more an abstract concept than given form in any one person, and tales of saviors were nothing more than stories for frightened children. The savior came not to rescue, but to strike down, so that it might be shaped into some new and greater form.

The news was... interesting. "Is it equipped with any form of AI? I was unable to locate a program, but it remains possible."

"... I don't know." Starkiller has some skill with machines- he learned by constantly fixing his holodroid, and from spending all his time tuning up and caring for his fancy ass ship... but he was no Vader. Besides, he'd never been taught to do any hacking or programming or that sort of thing - he was just the weapon sent out to smash things after the information had already been gathered. Still, he's fairly sure he would have noticed that sort of thing in the last month. "I don't think so."

"Careless," Vader said coldly, casually, in a tone that was about as light and informal as anything he ever said. He did not bother with further chastisements, as they were likely unnecessary. Words, wielded effectively, could sometimes be almost as effective as a lightwhip.

Almost.

Oh.

God.

Starkiller knew exactly what that tone meant. He inhaled sharply and tensed, briefly considering bolting... but knows he wouldn't get far. He tries to tell himself that he shouldn't have come, but he knows it wouldn't have made a difference either way. If Vader wants to find something he finds it; across the galaxy, if need be. The idea of hiding from him on one, inescapable planet is just stupid.

So he grabs desperately at the nearest thing with the Force - that massive motorcycle that stands between them - and hurls it as hard as he can at Vader with a wild, wordless shout.

And Vader is taken unawares.

There was a fight coming, surely they both knew that, but Starkiller did not generally strike first, and when he did, it was not as a surprise attack. Doing so had caught Vader before he was quite prepared. He makes a small, wordless noise of surprise as the motorcycle clips him - because he is not quite fast enough to deflect it entirely, merely enough to keep it from doing any real damage. He bats the vehicle aside and reaches out with his mind for his disciple's throat, his lightsaber already flying into his free hand as he steps forward.

Shit, shit, shit-

Starkiller lets out a strangled, angry noise as the invisible fingers close around his neck, and he ineffectually reaches for it like there's any way to pry himself free.

It might be the fact that the flow of oxygen to his brain is not exactly running at peak efficiency, but he refuses to think he's going to lose this. He won last time, after all- he did what he'd always known there were severe penalties for, what he'd never dared to try before, and it had paid off. He'd thrown force lightning at his Master's mechanical suit.

Well, he's not going to lay down and die this time. For one wild second, dangling there and trying desperately to gulp down even one small lungful of air, he thinks of nothing more than being free after he'd resigned himself to living beneath Vader's bootheel again. It's all the motivation he needs. He doesn't even bother groping around for his lightsaber, he just raises his fist and summons the lightning to crackle around his fingertips, preparing to let it fly.

The lightning.

The ultimate forbidden power when dealing with Vader; one of the few things that could easily kill him in this new form, and something that needs to be dealt with. Dealt with quickly, and dealt with decisively.

Starkiller's mistake is that Vader is too close, and so when he tries this stunt, he has only to step forward and bury his lightsaber up to the hilt in the younger man's chest. His breathing is still even, calm, but his body language is pure ice.

"Pathetic."

Well.

That didn't quite go as planned.

Starkiller doesn't even manage any sort of noise, he just kinda stares in horror at Vader's unmoving mask. At least it's not through his back this time? Granted, that doesn't really seem like much of a consolation, what with the searing, unbearable pain and all.

"You-" he finally croaks, and he tries clumsily to reach for the lightsaber hilt that he can barely see with his spotty, rapidly darkening vision, hoping he can at least pull it out so the burning will stop.

And, as he struggles, once again invisible fingers tighten around his neck.

It might seem overkill, stabbing someone as you strangle them, but Starkiller was relatively unique. If handled properly, neither of these things would kill him, which was just as well. Vader did not have access to the medical bays and workshops that he had back where he belonged, in the Empire's fleet. And Vader wanted to put Starkiller back in his place, not merely eliminate him.

Starkiller doesn't last much longer after that; his fingers drop from where they'd finally made purchase on the hilt and he passes out, going completely limp.

Vader switched his lightsaber off then, as he allowed Starkiller to slip to the ground. The motion is almost contemptuous, the angle of his body uncaring. After a moment, he used the Force to right the motorcycle, which luckily had managed to avoid major damage. After several minutes of examination, he believed he understood it well enough to operate it, unbearably primitive though it was. There were, upon occasion, advantages of having grown up as a slave in a junk shop, it seemed, even beyond his technological expertise.

Twisting the Force to heal instead of kill, after all these years, was difficult and draining, and Vader would never be a true healer. He was, however adapt enough to keep life in his apprentice's body, and he did so. Starkiller was not to be allowed to die, not yet. He would still be of use to his Master, though Darth Vader clearly needed a way to control him, and a surer method than that which was currently employed. Fear was no longer sufficient, nor could he count on the blind loyalty that had always categorized Starkiller's actions in the past. His allegiance no longer solely lay with his dark Master, and though it was probably possible for that problem to be corrected, it would do very little good to be killed in the interregnum. The small, neatly burned hole in his chest, from which the ghosts of smoke were still curling, was inspiration.

Starkiller and his Master both had something in common - neither was purely a man now, each had technological improvements. The first time he'd shoved a lightsaber through his apprentice's back, he'd been forced to conduct repairs that human tissue alone could not provide, to facilitate his 'resurrection'. It was fortunate for him that such had taken place now, of course. Vader understood machines as very few others did. He could repair the artificial organs and vital areas that Starkiller had been supplied with. And, while there, he could make improvements.

The girl had given him directions to the MAC, the apartment complex, and so Vader had taken Starkiller and the motorcycle and gone to find it. It had not been too difficult, nor had finding his apprentice's room. He had doubted that Starkiller had moved to find a different set of accommodations - he was used to doing as he was told and living as he was told - and, as it so happened, he was right.

He did not have the tools that Vader needed, nor the supplies. This was no surprise. What he did have was a small stash of credits, grouped carelessly together with a larger stack of some kind of paper, green and uniform. There were numerical values printed on the faces, which lead Vader to the conclusion that this was the local currency (paper money? It was almost barbaric, so backwards was it). After taking a few more minutes to rig a device to keep Starkiller from dying, from what he did have available to him, he took all of it and left the apartment once more.

It was an odd sight, Lord Vader sweeping through the City to do something as mundane as shopping. Bizarre as well. He was complimented on his costume when he found a shop that held items that would be serviceable, if not ideal. Nothing here was ideal. He'd controlled the urge to strangle the man in question, because it would be useless. Instead he returned to begin the repairs, and the modifications.

When Starkiller awoke, he would have better incentive than incurring Vader's displeasure, to keep from attempting one of his tricks again.

Starkiller woke up fast and hard, feeling like someone had jolted him back into consciousness by hitting him right in the chest with a sledgehammer. He'd been in worse pain before, of course... he just couldn't remember when, at that specific moment.

He couldn't remember much of anything, actually, except being choked and then getting stabbed and- oh. Right.

Fuck. His eyes flew open and he looked around wildly, bewildered to find himself in his own apartment. Vader didn't leave him to die? Why? Whatever the reason, he couldn't imagine it would be good for him. Half-panicked already, he momentarily forgot to pay attention to his surroundings in favor of trying to reach up and feel where he'd been stabbed, to see what had happened to the wound.

And, of course, Vader was there. He was as silent as he ever was, but even then he could easily be heard. The robotic breathing was eerie in the quiet apartment, just as it always was, as Vader watched his apprentice feel where there had been a hole in his chest, until recently.

Again.

One almost expected him to become accustomed to the sensation.

Hand gestures were almost the only easily-readable form of non-verbal communication that he had left, and Vader used them liberally. He raised his hand now, finger pointed in a vaguely reprimanding gesture. "You should learn caution when dealing with your betters," he told the younger man, his voice crisp. "It was both arrogant and foolish to assume I would allow you to do that twice.

"If you are wise, you shall not attempt it a third time." The last statement somehow sounded much more ominous than everything else that had been said.

Just a few more times and he probably will be!

His own breathing, panicked as it had been, calmed back down gradually. It wasn't that Vader didn't scare him - he'd have to be pretty stupid, if that were the case - but at least this was familiar territory. He watched his Master's hands rather than looking up at his face where it was hidden by the mask, and mostly just concentrated on not making any kind of face during the lecture.

He didn't even want to know why he felt a small mixture of shame in there with all the indignation and hate. He'd never enjoyed disappointing Vader, mostly because that disappointment could turn into something painful, but it was something else, too. Vader had been the one to raise him, train him and give him a purpose in life, no matter how terrible that purpose was.

Starkiller inhaled sharply at the final statement, a cold feeling brewing in the pit of his stomach. His fingers twitched against his own marred skin before he dropped his hand down to his side. "What did you do to me?"

"I planted a bomb when I repaired your life-support systems," Vader says, perfectly calmly, as though this is normal and reasonable, his hands moving again, pointing to Starkiller's chest. "Should you attempt to turn your lightning on me again, I shall detonate it."

Starkiller's eyes snap up to the helmet this time. "You-" it's not like he doesn't believe Vader could, or would, rig him to explode... it's just that he can't believe he was dumb enough to provoke it.

He's a little messed up in the head, see.

He slumps back down and stares up at the ceiling, swallowing down whatever emotion is trying to surface. Damnit. Damnit. "... Yes, Master."

"It was a clever trick," Vader says dispassionately. "But not one that I will allow twice. I had thought I'd trained you better than to underestimate your opponents in such a way. Apparently that is a lesson that you have yet to learn.

"You ought to know by now that I am stronger than that." Unless you'd assumed he wasn't.

He's not going to say he assumed Vader wasn't, as he values what's left of his life and limbs.

But he had kinda assumed Vader wasn't.

He's always known that hatred and anger gave one power, but before his final fight with Vader and the Emperor, he hadn't known how much stronger love and the desire to protect - to save - could make him. He had certainly overestimated himself without that same drive.

He finally moved to sit up, inhaling shakily. "Yes, Master."

Vader knows. Still, sometimes making the statement, or asking the question, is all the point that needs to be made.

"You are merely repeating rote phrases," Vader observed. "If I wished a mimic, I would have procured a peko peko."

Starkiller did a poorer job of making no face at that, but schooled it quickly. There would be no appeasing Vader today. Granted, he did just try to kill the guy, but considering his Master returned the favor tenfold, he had trouble being that contrite.

Alright, so he isn't exactly not contrite, either, but how many times has this happened, now? The shock and indignation and anger is rather dulled by now. He reached up again to rub at his chest. "What would you have me say?"

"What would you say to me?" Vader asked, his voice almost silky. It was a dangerous question, but most questions that he asked were, on one level or another.

I will find a way to be free of you.

"... Nothing."

Starkiller swung his legs over the side of the table, slowly standing, careful not to wince. Ow. He took a second to glance around again, eyes skimming quickly over counter to counter and-- wait.

No. Seriously?

"Did you take my money?"

"It was necessary," Vadar said. He didn't give the obvious answer - his money? Nothing, including Starkiller himself, was truly his own. There was only what Vader was indulgent enough to allow him.

"Necessary?!" He totally did. He went there.

Vader swiped his cash (yes his, he's clinging stubbornly to that delusion, thank you) to pay for the shiny new bomb in his chest.

Ain't that a bitch? "You-" rrgh, Starkiller's going to give himself an aneurysm just thinking about it, but he knows he can't take another stab at Vader today without getting killed for his efforts. He's already been treading heavily on the dark lord's patience, and he knows it.

"Perhaps you disagree," he offered, casually. Vader had an aura of power that swirled around him as he moved, like his cape.

Any conversation with Vader, in anything like the intimacy of the relationship between Vader and Starkiller, was like walking the edge of the cliff. It was Russian Roulette, holding the gun to your head. It was difficult to be sure what was dangerous, as the danger was nearly omnipresent.

"Of course not," he grinds out, at length. He'd always been mouthy with his pilots - alright, with anyone that actually managed to drag a conversation out of him - but never with Vader. Mostly because of that danger thing.

But he can't just say 'yes, Master,' so he's running low on polite responses. He really doesn't feel like dying again today.

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