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Summary: I came from the Lower Streets, a twisted creature beyond
redemption....or so I thought.

AN: First attempt at a long fic....am really nervous right
now....need encouragement....<shaky grin>

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Part 1

I roamed through the streets of Lower Coruscant, weaving in and out
of the shadows, keeping alert for anything that could impede my
progress. The light wafting down from the city above was weak at
best, nonexistent at worst. This was one of these areas where both
the light and the population were at their worst. I was fully
expecting one of my prey's henchmen to come lunging at me. After
all, he knew I was coming.

Of course, sometimes I think Sr'al did that to make my job
harder. It would be easier for him if I were killed on one of these
little excursions. He had made a mistake; he had developed me into a
lethal weapon, and he was now realizing that this weapon could turn
against him at any time.

Havens knew I wanted to. There was nothing more I wanted than to rip
out each of his organs and shred them with my bare hands in front of
his eyes. To exact a horrible and bloody retribution on the demon
who had torn apart my life and then stitched it back together in the
pattern that he wanted.

I had to stop for a moment, to collect myself and rein in the red
rage that threatened to cloud my senses.

And that moment saved my life.

A blur emerged from the blackness to my right, a whirling blade
catching the scant light. I skittered backwards, trying to keep my
feet while at the same time drawing the two foot-long blades that
hung one on each hip. My old friends added themselves to the steel
that seemed to reach for me from all sides. At least three more
shapes formed out of the dark. It occurred to me that perhaps my
time had run out. Perhaps Sr'al had finally decided to eliminate
me.

My lips curled away from my teeth in a snarl. And perhaps Sr'al
was foolish to think that he could.

I let the rage sweep over me, let my vision mist red, let a howl rip
from my throat.

I never could quite remember how I survived as long as I did, as more
and more would-be murderers materialized. My arms with their 12-inch
fingers of steel stabbed and slashed again and again, and I could
feel hot blood coat my hands. The glory of the fight sung in my
veins. But I guess even I have my limits.

One well timed kick, and one of my blades went flying from my crimson-
slicked hand. In the split second it took me to recover, a glancing
blow to the side of my head sent me sprawling. I rolled and tried to
come back onto my feet, but my legs turned traitor, sending me back
to the ground. With that last impact I felt my other blade slip away.

A foot connected with my side, and I could feel the white-hot lance
of broken ribs. A slash skimmed across my left shoulder as I tried
to shift away from the damaging foot. A fist drove between my
shoulder blades, cracking my body back down.

Then I saw it. Even through the red mist that now represented pain
instead of fury, I could see the blue-white column burst to life.
The light shattered the shadows, dazzling my eyes enough to close
them.

"I think you should leave the lady alone." The voice was
soft, tinted with a faint accent, but imbued with a sure authority.

A gruff sound that I supposed was a laugh came from somewhere over my
head. "She's no lady. Mind your own business, Jedi."

Ah. My slightly detached mind fit the pieces together. But what was
a Jedi Knight doing down in the Lower Streets?

"I'm afraid it just became my business." The voice took
on an edge, and suddenly, I felt very sorry for these men.

Unfortunately, their answer consisted of another rib-shattering
kick. I lost all interest in the upcoming battle.

Nevertheless, I could hear and smell the Jedi making work of the
handful that was stupid enough not to turn tail and run. I let a
corner of my mouth lift in a half-smile. Too bad I was in no mood to
enjoy the show.

The next thing I was aware of were hands gently turning and lifting
me, cradling me into a pair of arms. It was an odd sensation, seeing
as the last man who had touched me had wound up dead. That had,
predictably, reduced the occurrences. Even Sr'al hadn't been
that stupid in a long time.

But I couldn't put up a struggle. The best I managed was a
throttled, "No." It sounded frighteningly weak. A corner of
my mind screamed this was not a good thing. Neither was the blood
that trickled out.

A warm, rough hand landed on my forehead. "Hush, you're in
rather bad shape."

Not one to let such an obvious comment slip by, I fought my eyes open
to see a shadowy face. "No kidding."

I think I may have seen a ghost of a smile. But then I wasn't
aware of anything.

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TBC