From a Czerka Corporation Building to the Jedi Temple, Atton's Coruscant, Sunday

[suitably_heroic]

Atton's fingers flew over the console, plucking data out of the air and storing it neatly where it could be of more use. Czerka wasn't as big a presence on Coruscant as it was on places like Telos, so their headquarters was a little further out of sight than usual. A little smaller. A little easier to squeak into.

Stupid Czerka did insist on making their offices too fancy, though. Some of it was useful, at least to a guy looking to break in. Other parts--

He shot a baleful look at the weird little fountain-basin-thing sitting just a few feet ahead. It was part of a larger installation with plants and a little brook. Whoever usually sat in this office clearly had way too many credits to go around, and an absurd longing for something or somewhere that wasn't Coruscant.

The console bleeped. Download complete. He shoved the datacard back into his pocket. His fingers brushed past the edge of something metallic, and he paused.

His phone. He'd completely forgotten he'd even brought it.

Which meant it hadn't gone off since the last time he checked it, yesterday.

Stepping away from the console, Atton pulled the phone out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. No messages, no missed calls, no nothing. Two days. Four, if you counted missed class. Much as he'd like to brush it off as Sparkle hiding from him, as he had the past couple of days, he just... couldn't.

The island. The island had been screwed up, and he'd been eager to leave, instead of making sure everything was on the up and up. Why the--

A gust of wind brushed past his back.

He noticed. That saved him.

Atton turned, catching the business end of a vibrodagger in his shoulder, but nowhere vital. Pain spidered along his arm, and reflexes kicked in: he grabbed his attacker by the arm before he could pull back. He pulled, snagging the back of the guy's head as it came past and slamming the being's forehead off the edge of that stupid, garish fountain. Once. Twice. Thrice. Then into the water.

He twisted around, scanning the room, but there wasn't anyone else. Couldn't trust his Jedi senses, apparently-- the guy must have been shielding. Maybe he had buddies? ...None he could see, for now.

Better check up on the guy in case he might come swinging back. ...Except no, the answer to that was pretty damn clear. Looking over his shoulder, Atton could see the red seeping into the water from that very-immobile head, and winced.

"... Okay, I'm not telling Mical about that one," he muttered. Quietly. Damn it, he'd been trying to keep the deaths to a minimum, lately. This one didn't need to happen, either, except. Except he was off his game, and the guy had caught him by surprise, and e chu ta.

Dreams of thunder, hunger, green and pain, running away when he was worried instead of checking things out, making sure the people he cared about were safe. Killing people by reflex, because that was easy to fall back on.

It struck him suddenly, like a whack of Force lightening crashing down from above.

Malachor. The island reminded him of Malachor V.

Kark.

The island had reminded him of Malachor, the worst crime it could commit, so he'd bailed on the island. And some of the people on it, at least one of which he had sort of kind of almost promised not to bail on.

...And double-kark, as the lights shot on and an alarm started blaring. "Oh, come on," he snapped, "Can I not have like five seconds to have an epiphany here?!"

Boots hitting the ground not far off said 'no'. He cursed up a storm in Twi'lekki - under his breath, mind you - and checked out his options. The way he'd came? No, troops coming up that way. The other door? Same thing. The window...?

This wasn't platformside. Looking out the window, all he could see for miles was a chasm and speeders flying around. Nearest platform had to be at least a hundred stories down. He took a deep breath, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. He'd slap a kolto patch on that later, he'd be fine.

He could fight his way out. Except one look at that fountain made him think twice about that one. It wouldn't end well, either for him or for them, and while he couldn't say he cared about their well-being, he was trying to keep this one promise to himself going.

Which left the window.

He took a few steps back and judged it critically. If he took a running start, he could probably make some distance. Maybe? Maybe.

"Okay, Force," he muttered, shutting his eyes briefly, trying to reach out to the many drivers zooming past on their speeders outside. "I'm rooting for you, because you and I both know I'm too pretty to go splat on thousand-year-old ferrocrete, okay?"

He slid into a ready position. Those boots were coming in pretty close. "Or do it because if you don't, I'm going to be haunting the Temple long enough to mess with baby Skywalker's sanisteam temperatures, you got me?"

Then he took off at a dead run, pushing off from the windowsill and launching himself into the sky. Please please please, this would be a terrible time for me to die--

His feet hit the thick durasteel of a large passing airspeeder. Thank you, thank you.

The Dug staring back at him through the windshield didn't seem nearly as thankful. "Uh, sorry," Atton called, "Can you maybe just park me somewhere--? Thanks!" A blaster bolt shot straight past his head, skimming just past the Dug's speeder.

The Dug spat out a ton of invectives.

Atton spread his arms wide. "Look, I'm sorry I got your paint job scratched!" he yelled. "People are trying to kill me, it happens!" Beat. "Also, seriously, racing stripes? What, are you having a mid-life crisis or--"

Another bolt shot through the sky. The speeder took a huge swerve to the left. Atton's feet skidded over the hull, barely managing to keep any purchase on its surface. Karking hells-- "I'm not doing this to mess with you!" he bellowed at the Dug, then he looked straight on up.

Blaster rifles. Sticking out of the window he'd just come out of. He looked back down. Dug eyes breathing murder at him.

"...Right, I'll get the next one," he said, and dropped.

Hopefully this leap of faith was going to be slightly luckier than the first one, or he was going to be in a hell of a lot of trouble.

Next thing he knew, his ass was hitting the lining of a seat in a luxury speeder. Which was nice, and he would've enjoyed it, if he hadn't just dropped like a hundred feet and that hadn't knocked the air out of his lungs along with it.

At least the Twi'lek looked friendly?

He was gasping too hard, but so help him, he was going to try and level a flirty smirk her way. "Could you," he wheezed, "Maybe. Take me. As far as the Jedi Temple. Babe?"

Almost stuck the landing. Almost.

---

He made it back to the Temple a few hours past when he'd hoped to get back to the Temple. The wound on his shoulder hurt, but he'd slapped a kolto patch on it, and it hadn't pierced through any important muscles or anything. So. Whatever, he'd had worse.

After Malachor, he'd always had worse.

And if that wasn't the last thing Atton wanted to be thinking about right now - the last thing he wanted to be thinking about any time, and the first thing he should be thinking about...

"You're bleeding."

Funny how that was the first thing Mical managed to cough up, finding him sitting here, his back pressed against the wall outside Mical's office. Ah, well. At least it was a distraction from the sheer heights of beating himself up Atton was doing right now.

"It's just a scratch," Atton muttered, "Slapped a kolto patch on it, I'll be fine. Here's your intel." He threw the datacard in Mical's general direction, and trusted the guy's Force reflexes to do the rest.

Mical caught it easily, but he was frowning. "Are you all right?" he ventured, his gaze sliding from the datacard to Atton himself.

"Sure," Atton said, looking back up. "Why shouldn't I be?"

"You're sitting outside my office," Mical pointed out mildly. "On the floor."

"Maybe I was taking a breather. You know, some of us actually have to prepare ourselves before we can deal with seeing your... lame, Jedi fanboy face." So maybe he wasn't at top snark today. That happened, too.

Mical sighed. Loudly. "Are we really having this argument?" he wondered.

"What argument?"

"Atton."

"Fine, fine," Atton muttered. "What are you, the Temple therapist?" He took a deep breath. "It's Fandom. Island. There's something weird going on. And whatever's going on? It's not just weird, it's creepy. And I'm not talking garden variety Sith creepy, here."

He'd never seen Mical's eyes moving in quite so many directions before. "All right," the man said, slowly. "Then what kind of creepy, and is it wise to return to it?" And why, for that matter, was it apparently inspiring Atton to brood outside his office well into the evening?

"Probably not." Atton slid his hands through his hair. Thought about it. Thought about it some more. Then just came out and said it. "It's... you remember how Malachor V felt?"

"Vividly." The thing that flitted across Mical's face was the exact same thing that had sent Atton running from that stupid island. Made him feel a lot better about cutting and running out on it all of a sudden. Yeah, that, Mical. You knew what it was like.

"You, you only went there once," Atton said. He shook his head. "I mean you felt the effects in your life, I know, we all did, but-- I've been to Malachor twice. A third time might just actually come close to killing me."

As opposed to the first two times, which had marked the only two times Atton had ever seriously considered just laying down and dying. Come close to actually doing it the second time, too.

"I mean, the place isn't as bad as that just yet," he amended quietly. Just bad enough to give him a couple nights of horrible flashbacks and a pervasive feeling of nausea that wouldn't go away regardless of which part of the multiverse he was currently at. Just bad enough that he'd been trying to ignore it for over a week now, because even thinking about Malachor was... it was. Yeah. "But it's in that zone, you know? Something hungry, something dying."

Mical ran it back and forth in his mind-- Atton could see him doing it from here. "Do you believe there is another wound in the Force on your island?" he asked.

Which was the million credit question.

"I don't know," Atton said slowly. "I mean, you'd think I'd have sensed it if something like Nihilus set foot on the island." He'd have run even harder, then, and probably wouldn't be contemplating going back. Not even for Sparkle.

Okay, maybe for Sparkle. But only if pseudo-Nihilus didn't show up with a pseudo-Sion in tow.

"But it's similar enough to feel the same," Mical said. His brow had furrowed. "We should--"

"The kid's still there," Atton said. And he'd just taken off. Great karking heroism, Rand. "I know what I should. And I will. I just need to peel myself off this wall, no problem." He dropped his head back against it and shut his eyes. "Any minute now."

He couldn't see the nod Mical gave him, but he could sense it well enough. "Be careful," Mical said. "I can send Brianna and Visas with you, if you require their help."

Brianna? Maybe. If it got bad. But there was absolutely no way he was putting Visas anywhere near something that even smelled like Nihilus. Not after what that girl had been through. "Nah," he said. "If I go back, I won't get killed. Probably."

"Very reassuring."

Atton pressed his hand to the floor and finally peeled himself away from it. Lead in his shoes, old instincts telling him to stay right where he was, he'd run just far enough and running back was the stupidest idea ever. "I'm going to go call Portalocity, see what I can wrangle on short notice," he said. Which sounded like the stupidest idea ever.

"And get a new shirt," Mical suggested gently.

Atton paused. He glanced down, and finally noticed the splotch all over the fabric on his shoulder. Brown. Used to be red. Right, that would explain a lot of the reactions he'd gotten coming in here.

"...and get a new shirt," he agreed. "I knew that."

[[ nfb due to distance, nfi. ]]