A/n: This story has an M rating for "objectionable elements," including but not limited to killings, nightclubs, and strong and suggestive language.

Playing games

Coruscant stank; with an ever-present acrid fetor that clung to the soft palate in the back of one's mouth. The Glittering City did its utmost to be a corusca gem, a jewel whose center glowed in the light to give the appearance of a furnace.

If Mero were to believe this rotating ball of filth and all things foul lived up to its namesake, then its furnace would burn in the dark bowels of the planet; infinitely consuming the rungs of the social ladder as another is added on top of it. It spewed out the slag and stench as a reminder one was inevitably next if he didn't climb up fast enough.

He was luckily enough to climb up; to the very top. He, a twilighter born under the artificial lights of trashy cantinas and run-down apartments, had climbed up to the planet's bright surface. But today, when he was supposed to take a left at Ampion Street to get to Fyrefan Way, he had decided to go on Vos Gesal; a slight detour that would still get him to his destination. Master Sahn would tell him it was foolish, though.

But, Mero thought, Master Sahn didn't live the first five years of his life on this street.

If he could survive for five years, surely now, nine years later he had a better chance to survive five minutes?It was curiosity that made him alter his route. What would he be doing now if Sahn hadn't found him a lifetime ago? When he passed a connecting street, he saw the answer. If there were two sides to a credit chip, then there were two sides to a blaster and he admitted shamefully in his mind that he would have been the one pulling the trigger.

"Outta my way, human."

A Gran shoved him to the side as he dozed himself though. The three-eyed alien barely gave him a glance as he shoved passed. Mero knew he was at fault for walking too slow. The shady inhabitants of these odorous slums made their way across crowded and narrow streets quickly; no one wanted to increase their already elevated chances of death in the lawless Undercity sprawl. Still, he preferred to brush against the shoulders and probing appendages of strangers than be alone in the dark alleys twisting and veering off the main promenade.

Mero tried his best to amalgamate himself amongst the cloaked and shielded faces, but the tawny earth tones of his hooded robe only earned him foul glares from those who recognized his plain attire and their expressions were clear.

Jedi weren't welcome here.

He was grateful though for the occasional curt nod, a simple acknowledgement from an unfortunate denizen that his presence there gave them an ounce of hope amid their miserable demise pressed upon them; appreciation for keeping their children safe in the malicious underworld. It was all a plain-looking woman could offer: a tired smile as she tightly held her son's hand before disappearing into an alley. She was also a reminder of what he escaped nine years ago, when he was wandering these same streets alone, without a mother grasping his hand nor a lightsaber attached to his belt.

Head down in reverie, he continued his jaunt along the street, remembering the promise to himself that he'd bestow the same opportunity to someone else that Master Sahn did to him.

"Watch it, kid."

Hardly turning his head at being pushed again, Mero muttered a half-hearted apology

The Bith snarled, grabbing the back of his clothes and turned him around. "I'd watch myself, boy, if-" He squelched his threat as the he noticed the boy's robes.

Mero suppressed a smirk that threatened to appear, knowing the alien probably wouldn't risk a fight with a Jedi, even if he was a padawan.

He was right and lucky, as the alien pushed him to the ground in disgust and walked away.

"Yeah I'd watch myself too, Bug-eyes," the boy muttered, although the Bith's back was already lost in the crowd. He got up from the street, dusting his pants, and struck yet another passerby with his elbow.

He groaned. He did not want a repeat of earlier and quickly turned around to offer a sincere apology to his victim, a small boy who had the unlucky fortune of being eye-level with his elbow and rubbed his eyes that threatened to spill tears.

Blast!

Frantically, Mero glanced for any witnesses, particularly, someone down here with animosity towards Jedi; easily anyone on that street. The truth could have been twisted, and no sooner would the lies spill off of deceiving lips, than a mob would appear with false compassion bellowing that he had hurt the boy.

"Shh...I'm sorry, kid, don't cry," he consoled, "C'mon, don't cry."

He dug around in his pocket and pulled out a small sable orb.

"Here, look," he said, placing it in his palm and using the Force to make it tumble and free-wheel through the air. The ploy worked and it drew the child's full attention.

Holding the orb out, he told the boy, "You can have it."

At first eager, the young boy's arm outstretched to grab the orb wavered in hesitation, and he eyed the older boy skeptically. The adult-like wariness in a child so young didn't faze the padawan, for he, too, harbored anger at the many times he had been deceived by an ornery thug whose only intent was to get entertainment from his pain.

"No, it's alright," he reassured and used the Force to make the orb float in front of him. "Here."

The child greedily snatched it from the air and examined his prize.

You're welcome, Mero thought.

Really, he'd been meaning to give it to a child who was Force-sensitive, just like Master Sahn had, but the kid wasn't so bad. Master Yoda always said the Force worked in mysterious ways, and when he studied the boy, he couldn't place why he looked vaguely familiar. It wasn't until the child began to amble away that he remembered. It was the same kid he saw earlier with that woman. The woman who was now nowhere in sight.

"Hey. Did you lose your mom?"

Shaking his head, the child pointed back to the alley in the distance. Mero remembered how tightly the woman held the child and knew she probably wouldn't let this young boy, wander through the streets alone, especially in this district. The kid was very lucky nothing had already happened to him.

"Does she know where you are?"

The boy looked uncomfortable for a moment. "She's talking to the ghost man," he answered.

Ghost man? That didn't sound right. At all. The child's eerie misinterpretation could have been any number of things: spice-dealer, bounty hunter, or a thug. Any one was bad for both the boy and his mother.

"What was the ghost man doing?" Mero asked the boy.

"He was hiding. Mommy didn't see him first, but I did."

"Wait, hidi-"

Something clicked in his mind. Maybe this was what Master Yoda was talking about. The Force wanted him to protect this boy or his mother or something.

"Uh, I'm going to bring you back to your mom, okay? You can show her what I gave you."

The child smiled at the orb his dirt encrusted fingers were tightly wrapped around.

"Okay."

Careful to keep the child in front of him, so as not to lose him on the street, Mero walked the boy back to the alley.

-/-

In the shadows, he hid, like a creature on the hunt. The pallor of his complexion worked its magic and granted him near invisibility in the partial darkness; a trick of the light.

The drug had worked just as he had imagined on the destitute woman, but it was far too easy; he wanted a challenge. The vagrant was insignificant and useless to him, no Force-sensitivity of any kind or even any purpose to her shambled life. She did not have the barriers a trained mind had, and his pleasure in taking her mind was short-lived, like her offspring.

He had sent the child to the streets; he was even more useless than his mother. The boy wouldn't last long down here for five minutes on his own. No one had the time or compassion to care for the child; not down here in this sector.

But he had to be patient, he reminded himself. Seeking out a Jedi would draw unwanted attention too soon. No, he would wait and use the drug when an opportunity presented itself.

Already, he felt another presence approaching.

-/-

The first thing he disliked about Weeguk Street was that it was dimly lit; typical of the Lower levels, but this street seemed to end in darkness, and only three streetlights together with a violet flickering sign of a closed cantina kept it from doing so. Whilst keeping a firm grasp on the boy's shoulder, Mero had his lightsaber was ready in his hand, ready to be used as a light source and a weapon.

He did his best to remain in the light, even if it meant sacrificing what eyesight he could muster. Already, his eyes were beginning to conjure up false shapes and when his heart leapt at the still form of a rusty gonk droid, he forced himself to reach out with the Force, only to become aware of the second thing he disliked. Weeguk was startling cool, an anomaly when one is familiar with the humid air of the lower levels. With the smell, Mero always felt like trash was baking in an oven and someone had opened it up to fuel every living thing down here, but now, in the Force, nothing moved or quivered or emanated; it was just still.

He heard footsteps before he saw anyone.

"Hello?"

The Ghost Man. He was hiding, the boy had told him.

Then he saw him. Black hair twisted off his head to frame his death mask, pale and sneering. Mero thumbed the activation button of his saber, ready to attack. Then the Ghost Man walked into the light and he saw it was just the boy's mother.

Force, that was close.

Mustering a polite greeting befitting of Master Kenobi, he smiled at her and began his explanation.

"Ma'am, I found your son walking by himself, and I accidentally ran into him. I thought I'd try and..."

He paused when the woman had come closer and a cold feeling in his stomach formed when he saw her eyes, large and unblinking like a doll's, missing the light behind them that gave them life.

The boy whimpered at the sight of his mother, his eyes tracing the ebony veins that snaked across the left side of her face, and clutched the side of Mero's pant leg. Instinctively, he moved the child behind him.

"Ma'am?"

He was unsure how to approach the unresponsive woman. Perhaps she was on a spice high, certainly not uncommon in this Sector. Many sentinents, homeless or otherwise, turned to spice to cope with their miserable lives.

"Ma'am?" he tried again, starting to get worried when she continued to move closer to them. His grip tightened on his lightsaber, and he hoped he wouldn't have to use it on her, especially with the boy behind him. Then she stopped five feet in front of them and locked eyes with him. Mero stared back, unsure what to do.

In the stillness of the Force, a presence, oily and black, oozed into his senses. It was overwhelmingly suffocating and dizzyingly powerful, unknotting the pit in his stomach and making it churn with unease and malaise. His eyes darted around, looking from shadow to shadow, trying to distinguish the source of the darkness he knew did not emanate from the woman.

-/-

Lurking in the darkness, he waited for his opportunity to pounce on his unsuspecting prey.

By the will of the Force, a perfect subject had walked right to him; a padawan, one with a trained mind, yet one still young and unconditioned and in him, he sensed the growing seed of fear.

He allowed his own dark presence to reach the boy's acuity to make that fear flourish.

The boy's gray eyes locked with his and for a brief moment, an emotion he rarely allowed himself to experience, jolted though him; panic. He quickly banished the weak emotion, angry for making himself as vulnerable as the boy. He was foolish to think his mirage had failed.

A sneer pulled at his sable lips.

No, it would be the Jedi to be prone, not him.

-/-

"Thank-you. Mykl is always running off," the woman answered.

Mero wanted to believe her so that he could leave the boy and return to the false safety of the smelly, warm streets, but he was spell-bound. Her hollow, distonal voice made the hair on his neck stand, and her stiff and faltering smile never reached her eyes that went unblinking for too long.

A plume of steam erupted with a hiss from a sewer vent next to him, making both he and the boy jump.

"It's okay, just stay behind me," he whispered reassuringly the boy, concluding in his mind that he would defend him from his mother if need be. There was something so very wrong about everything in that alley, and yet, he could not sense the danger most imminent to him, not until he was in the midst of it and tiny granules blasted into his face as if coming from the phantom gust of a desert planet's prevailing winds.

Instantly, he was blinded as the foreign sand irritated and inflamed his eyes like harsh chemicals of an indoor pool. He tried to brush it off his skin, but it burned into the tissue, leaving ugly black splotches. And when he breathed, it was hell. The inferno spread from his nostrils, to the back of his eyes and throat, and down to the pit of his stomach, so that when he drew in a ragged, fiery breath, he retched out the molten contents of former meals.

The draining ordeal dropped him to his knees, his vision blurred by nausea and heat. He thought he saw the boy, petrified and shifting in and out of focus.

"Run, kid. Get out of here," he mumbled. He wanted to, was supposed to say more, but the urgency seemed to lessen. His mind, his feelings, were losing their intensity.

No. He gathered his thoughts, forced his feelings to build, and wrapped his hand around his lightsaber once more. It was difficult to ignore the pain, but he inhaled the tangy air and clung to the stark atmosphere as his anchor to gather his scattering thoughts.

Reaching out with the Force once more, he took comfort in its familiarity as it flowed through his fingertips and every fiber of his being. He was not to be soothed, however, as the dark and slippery ripple from earlier oozed into his senses again.

Then, sharp and sudden, a presence pressing at his mind, like cold fingers dipped into ice and pressed against the back of his skull. He tried to retreat his thoughts into the recesses of his mind, and steel it with the Force.

Don't resist. The pain will be over soon.

Mero shivered despite the heatstorm in his body. The presence pervaded, its icy grasp digging deeper at his defense until it breached, touching his memories, his thoughts. It knew his name now.

Mero.

No!

Mero.

The burn in his chest started to subside and the barriers in his mind seemed to melt against his will. The presence grew stronger.

Let me take over.

Why? he panted, clutching his head. Another burn formed in his chest, one born of fear, despair, and mounting panic.

So there can be no more pain. Only peace. Calm yourself.

Mero knew he couldn't hold out against this powerful mental assault for much longer. Desperately, he called out to his master through their bond, hoping he was nearby.

Peace is a lie.

His concentration broken, the presence consumed him.

Stand up.

Mero obeyed.

Good boy, Mero. Now, the woman in front of you, she did not listen like you did. Kill her.

A single slash of his light saber was sufficient to fulfill the Voice's wishes. He looked down at the dead woman lying at his feet, her obsidian eyes as dead and lifeless as his.

And the boy also.

Mero did what the Voice commanded. The empty, hollow orbs slid in their sockets to the location of strangled sobs and he quickly moved to silence them.

-/-

The caustic stench of seared flesh from the crumpled forms of the woman and her child snaked down the alley, reaching his senses, like the smooth, onyx orb that had found its way to him.

He relished in his victory, however small it was, but his twisted celebration was cut short by a quivering surge in the Force, a presence that had brushed his mind when the boy pathetically called out to his master.

Sahn. Yes, that was the presence's name; he had learned it from the boy's mind.

Sahn would be arriving soon, and he did not have enough resources to control him. He was only here to test, not attack. But if he did nothing, more Jedi would come to investigate.

Let them see what he is capable of doing.

He melted back into the shadows before the Jedi caught glimpse of him.

Perhaps next time, Sahn.

As he retreated, he thought of what would come next after this test. More Jedi would fall from the blade of his mind. The test had been perfect. He will convey to his master the success of Dust.

Rarely they used these rooms anymore.

Since the War started, all their intended occupants were too important, or too elusive for these interrogation rooms, and so the vacancies remained high. But this room's occupant was not a misguided former Master of these halls, a rebuilt warmonger, or deserting Senator, and so he did not need the elaborate holding cells reserved for the latter. Energy binders would suffice in holding this smuggler, Jek Lux, who even as he sits smugly in the metal chair, is unimportant when compared to those goals of occupants.

"The last one couldn't do the job so they send me another one, eh?"

Kit stepped in quietly, ignoring the human's question.

"Is this a test for Jedi graduation?" the smuggler prodded. "Are you gonna cross-your arms and try to guess what I'm thinking too?"

The Nautolan crossed his arms in reply.

"Heh." Lux leaned back in his chair. "I'll make it easy for you then: annoyance, anger..." the male trailed off.

"Those aren't thoughts; they're emotions," the Jedi corrected. "And I don't need to guess."

He didn't. The human's pheromones filled the room up enough to create an atmosphere that was already beginning to alter his mood.

In annoyance, Lux's tongue darted out to moisten his lower lip. "So what am I here for then?"

"Take a guess."

The man's face contorted, and a blast of anger bombarded his tendrils. "I'm not playing your game, Jedi. You just want me to incriminate myself. Because you don't know."

Kit remained stoic even though the smuggler's anger scent was foul. "I don't have time for games and neither do you. Tell me about the spice in your ship."

He asked it plainly, without any Force persuasion. Kit felt everyone deserved a chance, and a warning.

"That's what this is about? Some Glitter and death sticks on my ship?"

Jek Lux feigned surprise; Kit knew, because he detected fear emanating off the human and sensed an obscure thought repeating in his slightly guarded mind.

"Why don't you go a couple blocks down the street, " Lux continued. "Talk to the dealers on the streets or the patrons in the cantinas. I guarantee they're as guilty as I am."

"I have no doubt," Kit agreed, as he was quite aware of what went on outside the Temple walls, and unfortunately, must also turn a blind eye to. The war has led the galaxy's self-sworn defenders of peace and justice to focus on more pressing matters than spice runners and smugglers.

"So what then? Do you have to meet your political quota? A smuggler a week to show the Senate you're actually doing something?"

For a second, Kit was distracted from the interrogation and caught off guard by the man's words. Jek Lux was clever and quick, probably the reason for his success as a criminal, but also the reason he was sitting in this room. He liked to talk, and hear himself talk. He was good with words, but lacked the ability to judge when he should stop.

Lux smirked again when Kit didn't immediately answer.

It was exactly what Kit had planned, goading the smuggler until he believed himself ahead of the interrogation. He gave Lux's chair a small nudge through the Force, making it tilt backwards an inch; an intentional tactic, as the chair had one short leg so that its sitter can never be quite comfortable.

The slight unbalance caused his smirk to falter.

Kit pressed his advantage now and activated the holoprojecter in the center of the table. As graphic images flashed at the smuggler, he focused intently on Lux's reactions. Underneath the main emotion of confusion, he sensed deeper conflicting ones.

"What is this?"

"The woman and child you helped kill."

Fear and alarm scents spiked, bombarding his tendrils again.

Pushing himself back from the table, Lux held up his bound hands to claim his innocence. "I didn't kill them."

"Look closer," Kit said tersely.

Lux leaned in closer, a morbid curiosity holding him. "Blasters and vibroblades don't make those kinda wounds. Nope, something else cut them up real good."

Kit snapped off the holoprojecter, disgusted at Lux's uncaring and blasé attitude of the dead.

"Tell me about the spice now," he commanded, an emotion dangerously similar to anger edging his voice. He knew he shouldn't have allowed his feelings to surface so easily and so quickly, but this criminal didn't care about their deaths. He didn't care that even after they were silenced, their screams still echo in the Force.

"Wh-"

"The substance that's on your ship; what you claimed could give someone an edge over a Jedi," he interrupted before Lux could form his question. "The same substance all over that woman and her son."

He tried to intercept and catch the stray thoughts and fleeting bits that unguardedly floated in Lux's mind, finding only hints of illusive information.

"Tell me about Dust," he concluded, finally grasping the repeated thought in Lux's mind.

"No..." The smuggler's facade finally broke, becoming an amalgam of fear and unbelief.

"Don't make me look for the answer." Kit gritted his teeth, disliking his ultimatum. He very much disliked pervading the minds of others. Not only was it a horrible ordeal for him and his victim, but he also risked destroying their mind.

But Lux's face hardened again, and Kit was left with no other choice.

He exhaled heavily. When it came to telepathy, he was not as skilled as Masters Tiin or Plo, but since both masters were away on battlegrounds, he was the Temple's next best. Still, he would have to work fast or risk making Lux suffer a fate no person, even a criminal should endure.

It took immense concentration for one to enter another's mind; Kit found the invasive process the same, but each mind was different. Depending on the situation, some people had naturally higher defences. Usually it was people who were deliberate with their actions. Some had their minds completely open; unaware or uncaring that their thoughts floated freely, and some, like Jek Lux, were fully aware of the impending assault of their thoughts.

Kit brushed against Lux's mind, making his presence known.

Tell me about Dust.

No.

Lux knew he was there, but had enough will to resist him. So he pushed harder, and broke past the mental barrier. He repeated the question and answers willing came to him; the crates in his ship, small black sand-like dunes inside them, faceless people using it.

"It's a new spice," Lux breathed out between pants and gritted teeth, narrating the images Kit saw. "Created to... control people. Control Jedi."

"How? Who is making it?" Kit asked, relenting slightly from Lux's mind. He gave him time to recover, but Lux shook his head as if the action would physically withdraw him from his mind.

"No. No more."

He probed again, pushing farther than he did last time, and repeated his questions. The human began to physically writhe in his chair, fists clenched and perspiration pooling heavily on his forehead. Kit searched deeper in Lux's mind, to the level where ideas and memories lay.

There formed faces of people he didn't recognize; a blue twi'lek dancing like water, an angry zabrak, a sneering twi'lek male. Past actions; sitting at a booth in a dark cantina, interested faces sliding over credits on the table, a group of males snorting the black spice, blackened skin.

There was more, but Kit felt that was all Lux could endure. He was boring his whitened knuckles into his skull to stop the intrusion, head down on the table, sobbing broken answers Kit had already stolen.

He finally withdrew completely from Lux's mind and exited the room. No sense of victory or satisfaction stirred in him at the completion of his goal, only repugnance and contrition of what occurred.

As soon as the door shut behind him he sighed heavily into his communicator.

"Master Yoda, we have what we need."