Mustafar is a planet steeped in a dark history, acting as a point of interest as far back as the Clone Wars themselves. At one point, the Black Sun constructed their headquarters upon its surface and later on even Darth Vader took up residence within his dark castle. The traces of this history are still found in the form of the remains left behind. Mining facilities are scattered across the lava-surface of the scorching planet, help up with gravity supports that keep them safe from the superheated material below.

Perhaps its most notable history came via a single uttered phrase: Mustafar is where Jedi go to die. The hidden interrogation facility built into the scorched stone is steeped in the dark side, providing a clue to its wicked purpose in a time not so long past. A large, single landing pad acts as the focal point of the structure from the outside. It is connected by a causeway that leads to a security door that has fallen into disuse. The facility itself is still functional, drawing power from the thermal energy of the planet itself.

Once within, one is confronted by the labyrinthine maze of corridors and offices that were clearly designed for a singular purpose. The holding cells are as spartan as any other Imperial construct, providing only a slab protruding from the wall as a bed and nothing more. Barracks can be found near the main control rooms with its shelving in various states of disarray. It is clear with only a glance that scavengers have already picked the inanimate corpse clean of its contents.

However, it is deeper still where the miasma of the dark side truly reaches its zenith. There one will find the interrogation chambers. Wickedly cruel in their singular purpose, stains can still be found caked into the durasteel panels themselves alongside various tools and instruments of the trade plied within.

To walk within Mustafar's Interrogation Facility is to tread through the ghosts of the planet's darkest past. It is a symphony for the wicked and a requiem for the pious.

The facility was lodged into the southeastern quarter of a large hole next that carried lava like a waterfall into a pond and continued to stretch southward. Surrounding this depression were the valleys of the Gahenn Plains. From an upper cliffside vantage point one could spot the ruins of Vader’s Fortress to the west.

//**Alert**: Position Compromised// ID10 = Following Target//

The alert’s tone woke Creon from his “meditation”. His HUD’s topographical display pinged a moving red dot to give ID10’s position.

“Were you able to get the AC on?”

//Confirmation: Facility Ventilation Systems = Online// Temperature = Within Safety Parameters.//

Creon stood from between a jagged rock near the cliff’s edge. He shed the ghillie suit that masked him as a boulder and took flight over the molten pool. Almost immediately the air’s heat made him uncomfortably begin to perspire under the body glove. He wasted no time landing at the entrance and moving in with his rifle at the ready. His selector was on the third firing mode and was set to stun. His head was kept on a swivel behind a thermal optic display as ID10’s beacon krept closer.

“Panoramic View ID10,” Creon commanded.

His 2 dimensional minimap & positioning display turned into a 3D grid display of a sphere grid representing the droid’s sphere of awareness. In relation to ID10’s red dot, Creon’s remote pad’s appeared beneath as a blue dot . Creon couldn’t hear any footsteps or audible ping from his probe, so he assumed they were located on the third floor. He debated his approach between stealfully using the stairs or to crash through a window on the same storey from the outside.

// ID10 = Disqualified// System Shut Down Engaged//

Creon’s entire visor display suddenly faded and his connection to the droid was lost. In his haste he returned to the entrance and launched his jetpack. Through a window he saw the light of a glow rod and fired a frag grenade from his rifle. The frag tore apart most of the room including the left behind rod. Creon quickly moved through the adjacent door and came into a long hallway where his probe droid sat idle. Upon inspection there was no structural damage or fuses blown from the stun bolt’s power surge. From the rules of the agreed exercise, he was no longer able to use ID10 once it had been hit by the enemy. Creon rebooted the droid and sent it to where he had left his ghillie suit to wait. With it the droid carried his helmet and arm cannon assembly. Technology won’t help Creon find Daven Skyfe, and the extra firepower would only weigh him down in this scenario. From their training spent on Takodana Creon knew that the only way to find Daven was to meet him at his level.

The cunning mercenary watched Creon’s droid fly out from a window separated by a single wall. He watched Creon patrol the hallway from behind the cornered door window of his hiding place. Believing the element of surprise now in his favor Daven withdrew his pistol and grabbed a fist full of blinding dust. He rushed out the door and kicked off the opposite hallway too keet his momentum moving forward. The sporadic movement made Creon’s first few stun rounds miss. Right before Creon’s hits deactivated the shield generator, Daven threw himself into a barrel roll that closed in the distance just enough to throw the dust. Creon snapped his head away and yelled from the shock and irritation in his eyes. Daven clenched his fist which illuminated the neon blue vibrocells in his glove. Just before Daven was about to deliver an electric-charged crosshook into Creon’s jawline the Jedi fell to a knee and slammed his open palm onto the ground. The room then shook as if there were an earthquake and the floor collapsed from beneath their feet causing them both to fall to the second floor.

Daven regained consciousness after three seconds from landing. He looked around the room without moving his head to avoid disorientation. This lower hallway was notably more spacious but Creon was nowhere to be seen. He opened fire randomly to see if it would cause Creon’s shield generator to give his position away but the effort was folly. Just like the hall above, so too this new hall below held many doors on each side. He stood upright and groaned from the new muscle aches he knew will be worse tomorrow. The roles were now reversed in this game of cat and mouse but now the advantage felt to be in Daven’s favor.

With no particular urge to wait until Creon got bored and hunted him down again, Daven chose a door. He came to it from the side. Pressing flat against the durasteel wall panel, he took a deep breath, peeked out, then instantly flew back. The youth waited for his brain to process what he saw and tell him.

An empty hallway. This door led deeper into the fortress. Holding his sore ribs, Daven entered the long, dimly-lit passage.

With little idea of the facility's layout, and no clue at all for how long he was unconscious, Daven knew his opponent could be anywhere. He had to narrow it down.

It made some sense to assume the Jedi Shadow was near. Close enough to see and react the exact moment Daven lowered his guard. In a maze like this, though, knowing someone was "close by" hardly helped. Every few meters he skirted-around a patch of deep shadow, or a half-hidden alcove. The youth navigated through some rubble, under an area of crumbled ceiling that gave a window into the next-upper floor. Ready-made murder hole. His palms were sweaty, and he constantly readjusted his grip on his Ec-17.

Daven felt discouraged after his first ambush. He had pulled out all the stops. His second effort needed to exceed the first. Turning things around at this stage still meant laying a trap - after all, what better time to ambush someone than when they were chasing you? But first, he had to locate his hunter.

The hallway took a sharp turn, then another, and began branching-off into frequent side passages, interspersed with closets and alcoves, and at one point, a hole in a crumbling wall. His footsteps echoed down narrow corridors - and then bounced-back from ten-different directions, multiplied ten-times-over so he thought he marched alongside an invisible army. Whenever Daven paused to listen for hidden threats, these echoes persisted, making his arm hairs stand on-end.

Come on, he urged himself. Think like a beroya. Bounty hunters, often, sought every advantage. Safe to assume Creon did not set-up camp in this empty hallway, waiting to engage Daven in a quick-draw contest. He saw a closet. The mercenary slowed, and stopped short. He swallowed a few times before edging past the - empty - storage space.

No. The Jedi was in a dark room, or behind a door, or in the ceiling somewhere, and probably would wait for Daven to pass right-by before attacking his six. Well, maybe not . . . but that's how I'd do it.

Daven went by another room. Banks of data terminals lined the walls, below damaged panels showing exposed wires. He remembered he only found Creon's droid after it was inside the facility. His pursuer might have downloaded a schematic from somewhere, first. As he turned left, he walked a little faster, now, breaths coming short-and-quick.

Something else had just occurred to him, too. A place like this might contain secret passages. Daven tapped the wall with one gloved knuckle, then flinched at the metallic clang. I'd make all my secret doors outta the same stuff as the walls, too. He glanced over his shoulder. Stop it, he ordered himself, but felt a chill go up his spine regardless.

Daven sped up. He bypassed a small room, with a table in the center. Another quick, backward glance confirmed no Mandalorians phasing-through solid durasteel into the passage, like a starweird come for his life. The youth faced-front again as he reached a corner. Practically sprinting, now.

As such, he collided with the enormous beskar statue hard-enough to get knocked down. Even as he fell Daven's blaster rose, but Creon spun, preternaturally quick. The youth had changed tack and rolled an instant before the Westar's stun bolt left a burning circle where he just lay. The heat of its passage urged him into a frantic lunge toward the nearest door.

As he came up and darted aside, putting the wall between them, Creon grunted, "Watch where you're going next time, kid."

The table he noticed previously was underneath a vent. Clumped-together strands of dust stuck to the grate, waving in the gentle airflow. He leapt atop the table, and leapt again to seize the grate with one hand. Creon barreled into the space, rifle leveled, and stopped-short in surprise, an instant before his erstwhile prey dropped from above with a vicious axe kick to - The grate promptly broke, and a corner of it caught Creon's head when he entered, before Daven slammed against the floor.

The big man put a hand to his face, but was otherwise unfazed. What is he, part droid? From the ground, Daven flung the grate up at him. It was lighter than expected. "Catch!"

Creon beat it aside with an arm, but his prey was past him out the door. "Ow," the Jedi emoted.

"Keep it!" he cried. Daven ran full-tilt back the way he came. He skidded to a halt past the turn-off, cursing the designer who mistook sleek black metal for flooring material. He slipped, nearly fell, and as luck would have it, in that moment a blaster bolt seared the wall just above his head.

Daven went right, around the bend, and then poked out to return a badly-misaimed volley that forced Creon inside the room again.

Creon parried the grate with his right arm, even though it was holding his Westar. Daven noticed back on Takodana, too, that the man was right-handed. He glimpsed the tip of the Wester's barrel emerge, and fired a few more shots.

The door to the room with the ventilation grate was on the left side of the passage. Daven was to Creon's right when exiting. Thus, unless he switched the Westar to his left hand, Creon would have to lean and expose more of his upper body, namely his left shoulder and half his head, to aim around the doorframe.

Daven hid as a cyan bolt went by close enough to singe his hair. Mandalorian, he reminded himself. He bent his wrist around the corner to fire a few more, blind shots his opponent's way.

A shootout, where both had the benefit of cover and good visibility, was the precise last situation where Daven wished to engage Creon. He looked down the hall, trying to plan an escape route through the drumbeat in his skull, and had an idea. He targeted the luminescent panels above, their sole source of light. Successive showers of sparks rained-down ahead of Daven, as he fled to the room with the data terminals.

Boot steps pounded behind him. Creon had abandoned stealth, for now. Daven fired skyward, frying the last panel. The area was plunged into darkness, aside from the glow of the winking monitors. He hissed as fresh sparks from directly overhead sprinkled his neck and arms.

Creon appeared, backlit by the intact panels around the bend. Daven, partway-inside the room, snapped-off a shot, then retreated. His opponent's absurd reflexes let him duck and return fire, but this time he missed by a wider margin. In pitch-dark, he wasn't much better a shot than Daven. Perhaps thinking the same, Creon charged, closing distance.

He burst inside, stance wide, knees bent and shoulders low, blaster rifle sweeping the space at chest-height. Daven, crouched high-up on the bank of monitors, pulled the trigger.

So intent was he on shooting first that he missed. By a mile. Creon skipped-back from the scorch mark by his lead foot, going behind the wall. Daven dove, rolled and sprang up beside the entrance, when the Mandalorian's barrel reappeared. He struck the blaster with his left hand and raised the pistol in his right, but was knocked-high. He aimed a kick at Creon's groin - 'it's fine, he's half droid' - which was caught on an armored thigh. It actually hurt, a little, but gave him a chance to spring away. Both men leveled their weapons at each other simultaneously.

He forced a crooked grin, and spoke Mando'a - "Kandosii, jetii. Al ni parjir." Nicely done, Jedi. But I win.

He rather hoped Creon answered, brcause Daven really needed the breather. He had absolutely no clue yet what to do next.

For a moment there was silence and a chill ran don Daven’s spine. Creon took a side step and Daven commanded his finger to squeeze the trigger. Unfortunately his hand seemed frozen, and extra effort had to be put just to barely move his entire body. Something had slowed him down, and as a result he was thrown away from Creon by the repulsor in his vambrace. The sudden impact made him lose grip of his blaster. Before he could reach for it the blaster was yanked away by Creon’s telekinetic pull.

“Not fair,” Daven said with a heavy breath. “Nothing is fair. Life isn’t fair, the Force isn’t fair, and the fact I have better tools than you do isn’t fair either. Your only advantage is your wit, and that will not be enough. If you want to get ahead in this galaxy, you will need to incorporate as many aspects this life has to offer.”

As Daven tried to get up a grappling hook wrapped around his ankle and dragged him towards Creon. Daven didn’t even try to resist. Most of his equipment had been spent, his body was damaged, and he was out of ideas.

“Not all of us were born lucky with midichorians,” the mercenary snarled. Creon rolled his eyes, “Have you even tried to meditate? Or any manner of introspection? The Force is within all creatures. All living things have midichlorians and meditation taps into that reservoir. Maybe if you focused on it, the cells that do have them will divide moreover the ones that don’t. I believe that everyone has the potential to use the Force, they simply need to attune to it.”

Creon released his grappling hook and started a complicated process in removing his vambraces. Daven sat up and waited. He felt depressed knowing Creon was stooping lower and lower to make the training as evenly matched for him. It was so that Daven could fight to the best of his skills, though it still felt condescending to his pride.

“I don’t care how skilled one becomes or how many feats they achieve, the Force will always be the greater path.”

“Even moreso than ‘The Way’?” Daven inquired. “The Way of the Mandalorian is a code of ethics that binds together men who see themselves as warriors. They had the advantage over Jedi and Sith solely because of the development of beskar as a defense against lightsabers and the arsenal on their vambraces to surprise their foes up close.” Creon then removed his breastplate with the attached jetpack and set it to the side. “Get up,” he ordered.

Daven stood to his feet. Temptation took his eyes to the jetpack, but he knew Creon would just throw him like a rag doll as a result before he got the chance. Creon was preparing to face him in hand-to-hand combat. This was just a lesson for him that he wanted to teach. Daven still had his gloves and if he could find an opening to knock out Creon, then that armor would be one hell of a payday. He was motivated once more and put up his fists in a boxer’s stance.

Creon took a sudden step closer and Daven threw a jab with his off-hand in reaction. Creon redirected the punch with an open palm to Daven’s wrist and followed with a hook towards his temple. Daven threw his head back to dodge the blow, but Creon bent his arm and attacked with his elbow. The strike landed simultaneously as Daven’s free hand uppercut Creon in the gut with an electric charge. The minor jolt sent Creon backwards and he assumed a defensive posture. Daven launched with a flurry combination of punches. Creon had defected the first two, but neglected a kick and the subsequent jaw hook that followed. The pulse from his vibrocells had knocked the Jedi out cold, just as he had planned. He looked over to the jetpack and breastplate. It seemed that they were linked on by a magnetic force. He didn’t have much time as Creon was already groaning awake, to which another punch to the face bought Daven more time. He picked up the breastplate and slid his torso through it and began to run.

“Come on, how does this thing work?” he grumbled to himself looking for a way to activate the jetpack. He panted heavily and didn’t cover much distance due to the armor’s weight. Creon groaned again. Daven stopped and took off the breastplate. It was no use. He wouldn’t make it in time to escape with the hunk of metal dragging him down, no matter how profitable it would have been. He made a note to head to the gym as a resolution and took off out of the facility before Creon woke up. Daven was done with these lessons. He swore to himself that next time he’ll get the best of Creon.

"To clarify." He thought Creon's colorless voice was, this time, tinged with the faintest hint of incredulity.

"You think you won this training exercise, to test if you can track and evade trained hostile targets in an indoor environment?"

"Yes!" the Arconan answered confidently.

"You think bumping into me, and not getting-shot right-away, means you won?"

"Y -. . ." Daven squinted, as if thinking hard. ". . . Y-yes."

"Then let's try something new." Nexu-quick, Creon was upon him.

The youth fired one shot, which reflected off a beskaar chest plate, before the pistol was batted from his right hand. Simultaneously the WESTAR went high, as if it would be used to club Daven. His left arm shot up protectively, and Creon's free hand caught his wrist. In an instant the Mandalorian's right hand, which dropped his WESTAR, took hold of Daven's forearm. He spun to put his back to the youth, brought Daven's elbow down hard across his pauldron and flipped him.

Daven struck the floor hard, and lay there immobilized. He felt rather worse about his post-exercise evaluation than he did ten seconds prior. Nonetheless, once some feeling returned, he struggled upright. Creon was poised across the room, nearer the bank of data terminals. He guarded his chin, elbows pointing down.

Then he opened a hand, extending it toward Daven. His opponent beckoned with his fingers.

Daven shook to loosen-up. "Heads-up - I'm gonna make you bleed."

So saying, he flung himself with a snarl at the Mandalorian Jedi. A jab led to a right cross, right leg passing before the left in the process, and another step put him close enough to launch a barrage of hooks. Creon parried two from his chin, then dropped his elbow just in-time to stymie a blow at rib-level. Daven switched targets freely, putting everything he still had after being thrown into his attack.

Following the initial onslaught, Creon found an easy rhythm parrying each strike. "Let's get this straight." He began to circle, and intending to drive him back toward the terminals Daven took a wild swing. All at once, he was trapped.

Daven's wrist was secured in a vise grip. Creon rotated Daven's palm down, pulling his arm across the man's broad chest. His own armored elbow fell on the hyperextended joint. Hard enough to seriously hurt, if not cripple.

The mercenary opened his mouth to scream, and the back of a gauntleted fist snapped-up into his nose.

Through the audible whiteness that blinded him, he heard a distant voice. "You're going to 'try.'"

When Daven awoke, his opponent knelt beside him. He was a little surprised at this, but did not ask whether it meant the exercise had been canceled. He lay still, took shallow breaths, and prayed it had.

"It was a really good try. But now you're awake. Get up."

Daven met that brown-eyed stare, and rose onto his elbows. However, when he tried to speak, the youth heard himself croak.

It was a long time before he found air to say, "I don't like you."

"Good. Glad you're cured of that." Creon clapped him on the shoulder, hard enough to knock him down. As the Mandalorian stood and turned away, that even tone reached Daven's ears as if through several layers of transparisteel. "Let's take it again. From the top."

"I kriffing hate you," Daven wheezed, while his opponent strode out the door.