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And so it was in the small hours of the morning, deep in the winding backstreets of Ord Mantell City, a stairwell led beneath street level to a former dive. The space was abandoned five years prior in the early days of imperial governance, but for the past few months it has served as a small, off-grid clinic. The locals preferred the discreet service it provided to the rigorous background checks, long lines, and exorbitant cost of imperial medcenters. This preference usually kept the stormtroopers out (few dared report such excellent, if not quite legal, service). It was an arrangement the doctor who set up the clinic was well versed in maintaining, for she had set up several such clinics over the years.
Past the waiting area that was once a bar (and is still disguised as such should the authorities come knocking), through a door in the back was a small office. In it a young human boy sat on a hospital bed while the mirialan doctor took a look at his bruised and swollen ankle. She ran a scanning tool over the discolored area and examined it closely. The boy's uncle sat on a chair against the wall, patiently awaiting a prognosis.
"It appears to be a minor fracture," she said in her blue-blooded Coruscanti accent (another mark in her favor; she sounded imperial. Her accent has kept her hidden as much as any effort she made herself). The boy looked worried for a moment but she was quick to reassure him, "You will be back on your feet in no time–just a week of bedrest. Do try to stay off this foot for a while. Make sure to have it checked again in a few weeks, or if there is any pain."
After the boy’s brace was in place, his uncle thanked the doctor and handed her a few credits (far fewer than what a legal medcenter would ask for, but clearly more than the old man could manage). The doctor declined with a slight shake of her head and smiled gently, "Just make sure your nephew is more careful on the stairs." The man's gratitude was thick in the air, there were tears in his eyes as he left with the boy.
The doctor stood alone and stared blankly at the closed door. The smile which she gave the man and his nephew gradually faded from her face. It was deadly quiet, yet she looked almost on edge. Any physical sense would tell that she stood by herself in that room, but senses are easily deceived–and this doctor had more than meager physical senses.
"Thank you," she said to the dusty, dimly lit room. The silence returned only for a moment before a menacing voice responded, disguised by a vocoder.
“Thank you?” it crackled, the sound emanating from the darkness around the doctor in a way which made it very difficult to pinpoint. Her eyes darted around, but she stood calmly otherwise.
“You waited for my patient to leave,” the doctor responded evenly, “not many in your number would do me that kindness.”
A figure wreathed in pitch-black armorweave and plastoid emerged from the shadows before the mirialan. An imperial emblem on their right shoulder marked their allegiance. Though masked, it was obvious they were not human. Lekku, while not visible, were clearly hidden beneath a dark cloak and cowl. It was difficult to be sure under all that concealment but they were likely twi’lek. This one had gone to some lengths to conceal their identity. It must be encouraged, the doctor thought. They don't get to keep their names after all. Their appearance was simply another shackle to their old identity which, in their eyes, ought to be ripped away. An inquisitor was a weapon, not a person.
"With whom do I have the pleasure of company today?" She asked with feigned interest as she took in the menacing visage before her, "Eight Brother?" she tilted her head, tauntingly calm, "Seventh Si–"
"Barriss Offee," the inquisitor snapped, harsh and unyielding–accusing–and ignoring the woman’s provocations. The doctor was startled at the use of her name, it had been an awfully long while since she heard it on another’s lips (or, as the case may be, out of a terribly scratchy speaker). Neither of the other inquisitors who tracked her down before seemed to know who she was. She had, after all, gone to great lengths to hide her identity as well. Bleached hair, skin free of tattoos, soft lilac contact lenses, and an almost unnatural ability to conceal her presence in the force. Barriss was always so careful. This inquisitor must have been watching her for a while, or perhaps–a dark thought crossed the mirialan’s mind–perhaps this was someone she knew, before.
“You deserve this,” the figure growled as they drew the dual-bladed inquisitor saber hilt hidden beneath their cloak. A single blood-red beam ignited from one end, held in a reverse grip as they fell into an ataru ready stance. Barriss observed them as she sunk into her own defensive stance, using the force to draw a hidden vibroknife to her hand from behind the bar. There was definitely something familiar about this inquisitor, but she just couldn’t–
Barriss fell to the side as the inquisitor cleaved the air where her neck was a moment ago. Quickly pushing off the ground with the force and sliding back to her feet she had no time to prepare for the next strike. On pure instinct she jumped back as the glowing blade swiped the air again. The force rumbled with the power of the missed strikes and the mirialan found herself faltering.
She couldn’t parry with a knife, and this inquisitor was far more skilled than those she fought previously. There were no mistakes, no openings in their guard to strike through. Though she had some space to dodge, she was quickly being herded into a corner. She tried a run for the door, but was quickly cut off. They were far quicker than she. She attempted a feint, daring her opponent to overcommit, but they saw right through the ploy. They were far more practiced. Better trained. Disciplined. Aggressive, but not reckless. There really was something familiar about their fighting style. Perhaps if she knew who this was, she could put them off enough to make a break for it.
With the confidence that came when she settled on a plan, Barriss threw her knife at the inquisitor, propelling it with the force to strike at their mask. Though the blade missed the mark somewhat, it caught in their hood and tore off the fabric…
Revealing white and blue striped montrals with sickly dark cracks.
Barriss’ pupils shrunk to pinpricks.
And in that momentary distraction, the inquisitor tackled her to the ground. The crimson blade felt like fire against her neck as they held it just close enough to singe skin, but Barriss didn’t scream. She hardly reacted, just crumpled and stared in abject horror. In a holovid-like slow motion, the shiny black metal mask which concealed the inquisitor’s face folded up. First revealing the lips Barriss still dreamed of, near six years on from the day she ruined everything. Their bitter smile was uncanny. Unnatural. So unlike her memories. Next came the nose and cheeks, burnished with scars that weren’t there before. They were hurt so very badly. Barriss felt sick. Last came the eyes, a dirty yellow rimmed with red. Bloodshot and filled with gleeful hatred.
“Force, you are so fun to play with,” the inquisitor’s–Ahsoka Tano’s–voice felt wrong. The air filled with her cruel laughter. A cold shiver ran up Barriss’ spine as her heart shattered. Tears sprinkled her cheeks.
“Maybe I’ll keep you,” mused Barriss’ old friend, the one she betrayed. The inquisitor leaned in close, right above the blade, took in her scent and hummed with pleasure, “Your fear is so delicious, Barriss.”
“Not you,” the mirialan whimpered, “Not you, not this, you don’t deserve–”
Barriss screamed as the inquisitor’s blade grazed her jaw. In the time that it took for the pain to dull, Ahsoka pinned her to the floor with a hand pressed down on her neck. “You don’t get a say in what I deserve, Barriss,” the inquisitor spat, her nails digging into yellow-green flesh. She tossed her blade to the side and struck Barriss clean across the face, cackling at the girl’s choked sobs.
“I think I understand now,” a cruel smile grew on her lips, “You must have felt so powerful, playing with all our lives.”
“N-No! No! It was wro–” Barriss blanked for a moment from the pain, and only came to at the sight of blood dripping from the inquisitor’s knuckles. Her mouth tasted of iron. She didn’t even remember getting hit.
“You were right, Barriss,” the inquisitor muttered with a bizarre delight, her eyes piercing right into Barriss’ own. They were so close. Barriss stiffened as cool fingers gently brushed her bloodied cheek.
“Thank you,” Ahsoka whispered as if sharing a secret. Barriss held her gaze and for a moment–just a fraction of a second–she could have sworn she saw a spark of blue in the inquisitor’s sharp sulfur eyes. A flash of hesitation. The moment broke when she felt the prick of a needle in her forearm, and without much of a struggle she fell to drug induced unconsciousness.