Lightning shatters the sky and strikes the spire atop the cloning complex towering before you as you step off your ship and onto the rain-slick landing platform. Kamino, the Planet of Storms, is known for its roiling seas and constant torrential downpour.The fall of the Galactic Empire hit the planet’s primary export of military cloning projects extremely hard, but the Kaminoans remained afloat, both figuratively with contracts to galactic warlords, and literally with the brilliant engineering of their iconic seaborne cities.

The initial landing pad is a wide circle designed to accommodate a variety of ships, and is connected to a series of other platforms as well. Every surface is slick with rain, but avoids flooding due to the sloped edges that allow the water to run off into the sea below and away from the centerpoint.

The cloning facility’s exterior is characterized by similar slopes, and raindrops rapidly transform into steam as they touch against the series of lightning rods around the platform, much like they would if they dripped onto a lightsaber blade. You wonder which is deadlier as you observe the violent arcs of electricity course through the pylons.

History tells of the fateful encounter between Obi Wan Kenobi and renowned Bounty Hunter Jango Fett. The doors of the facility are sealed, which means that whatever challenge awaits you, will have to be faced in the heart of the omnipresent rainstorm. What history will you write?

Usually it took a good bit of time before Alethia could form a strong opinion of a planet; the Human prided herself looking past the obvious and doing her homework before committing herself to a position. Kamino, though, didn’t have much to it beyond the obvious. She hated the rain. She hated the constant crack and boom of the thunder. She hated the overly sterile hospital smell of the Kaminoans’ whitewashed city, and the patronizing aliens that dwelled within it. She hated every rain-soaked minute she’d spent on this rock, but she could at least take solace in her mission.

It had taken some time to get the Sentinel Network back up to full speed after the loss of New Tython, but the majority of their sources had remained faithful. One of them had reported that Clan Naga Sadow had contracted an order of experimental growth matrices from the Kaminoans. The devices - if they worked - would allow field medics and emergency technicians to grow new organs or even limbs for the grievously injured within a few hours. Alethia suspected the Sadowans had less altruistic intentions for the matrices, but regardless the opportunity has been too good to pass up.

So Major Archenksova had quietly requisitioned a light freighter and three crewmen and set off to hijack the shipment. The team had arrived on Kamino ten hours ahead of the scheduled pickup, and with a bit of finesse and a lot of bluster - aided, no doubt, by a black zeyd cloth robe, black lipstick, and a countenance of irate superiority - Alethia had convinced the Kaminoans to hand over the growth matrices. The Kaminoans seemed happy enough to retreat inside while the supposed ‘Sith’ loaded the crates themselves.

“That’s the last of them,” the warrant officer said with relief as he walked over to where Alethia and the other two soldiers had been watching the load-lifters from the limited shelter of the research facility’s entryway.

Alethia nodded in response, and several drops fell from the edge of her mostly water-proof cowl onto her face. “Excellent. Are we ready for take-off?”

She’d barely gotten the words out before the question was answered. The ship’s repulsors hummed to life and the freighter began to pull away even as the entrance ramp slipped shut.

“Uh, apparently without us, Major.”

Archenksova just scowled in silence as she retrieved the remote from her belt and keyed in a detonation code. Even through the tinted viewport, the flash was visible and the EMP grenade tucked away beneath the pilot’s seat went off. The freighter wobbled as it slowly tilted to port like a wounded animal. It hung above the landing platform for a tense few seconds before the repulsors failed and it came careening down. Durasteel shrieked in protest as the craft scraped along the platform, mowing down a crackling lightning rod before pitching over the edge. Two of the KUDF crewman jogged after it, weapons drawn, just reaching the end of the platform by the time the freighter finally slipped from sight.

Quo-Wing-Tsun would have agreed with Archenksova’s assessment of Kamino. He’d hated that he had to argue with traffic control to give him a landing pad, since “the Dlarit Corporation’s lawful representatives have already arrived.” He hated the downpour and the agonizingly slow pace he’d had to take to make it to the ship unseen. Most of all, he hated that he didn’t kill the thieving scum trying to run off with his shipment. Quo knew better than to jeopardize his mission by engaging a squad of unknowns. But right now, the Zabrak’s hatred was reserved for the crackling explosion from beneath his chair.

The hair was standing on end all over his body and his extremities tingled a bit, but otherwise the Shadow was unharmed. His prosthetic right hand spasmed once, briefly, but the electronics were well enough shielded to continue functioning. The ship was a different story. The control panel and the myriad of displays in the cabin were dark, save for lingering sparks and arcs of electricity here and there. The lights flickered a few times before dying out permanently. If the ship had a reserve power generator, someone had disconnected it for just this occasion.

Quo scrambled to his feet and his robes billowed out behind him as he bolted down the corridor. The Zabrak was thrown from his feet as the ship slammed into the landing pad, but he bounced off the bulkhead and slammed his hand on the hatch controls in one fluid motion. Taking one deep breath, Quo willing strength into his legs and hurled himself out the hatch as the freighter slid off the edge.

Darting up the rain-slick, curved side of the landing pad by sheer force of will as much as athletic prowess, Quo again launched himself upwards. He drew the lightsaber from his belt and ignited it in mid-air as he somersaulted, bringing the blazing weapon down into one of the Odanites as he landed. The other barely managed to bring his blaster up before Quo’s other hand shot out, his rage and frustration escaping in the form of brilliant white lightning. The Twi’lek crewman fell to his knees, only just registering what had happened as Quo’s lightsaber smoothly glided through his lekku and neck.

The warrant officer brought his own blaster up to take aim at the Sith, but the Major’s hand shoved the weapon back down.

“Inside. Now,” she said, firmly but quietly. “Get to a coms terminal and call Henymory for extraction.” The man could hear her suck in breath through gritted teeth even over the churning of the wind and water. “And shoot the door controls from inside. I’ll call you when I’m done with this one.”

The man gulped, but nodded. Within a heartbeat he was gone, and Alethia heard the quiet whir of the closing door followed by a muffled blaster bolt. “Care to explain where you were going with my ship?” she shouted over the storm.

“Back to Aeotheran,” the hooded Zabrak replied in a tinny, distorted voice. He was advancing on her slowly, almost casually except for the blood red lightsaber held up across his torso. “With my equipment. It was kind of you to load it for me, but I think I crashed your ship.”

So much for basic taunts, Alethia thought. “Don’t tell me: Quo-Wing-Tzun?”

The Sith kept advancing in silence, raindrops fizzling to steam as they landed on his blade.

“Zabrak. Breathing mask. Red lightsaber in a Jar’kai grip. Lightning. Oh,” Alethia said with a conspiratorial smile, “I almost forgot the cybernetic hand.” That, and your name on the pickup receipt. The Human hoped the bluff would throw her opponent off a bit. If it had, the Sith was determined not to let it show - but he did pause in his advance. Alethia nodded towards his forearm, and Quo glanced down at the broken dart caught in his sleeve.

Frack, he thought. She must have gotten a shot at me when I came up, and I didn’t even catch her. He wouldn’t allow it to happen again. Quo kept his gaze focused on the woman as he drew his vibroblade with his off hand and brought it up, tucked close to his chest to guard his solar plexus. His lightsaber blade bobbed slightly out in front of him as he dropped his weight onto his back leg, poised to lunge forward. “And you are?”

“In no mood for introductions,” Alethia replied as the Sith hurled himself forward, not waiting for her answer. There was a crackle and a flash as she seamlessly drew the riot baton from inside her robe and batted away his saber before spinning her weapon around for a counterattack. This was going to be satisfying.

The young Zabraks eyes sparkled as his vibroblade whipped upwards in a vicious arc, the clang of the contact with the riot baton drowning out the rumble of thunder overhead. The fizzling of the charge at the end of blunt weapon filled the air along with the smell of ozone from the vaporising water droplets as they fell on the crackling energy at its tip. Small plumes of steam erupted with each water particle as they contacted the heat of the both saber and baton in the heavy downpour cascading onto the landing platform.

Receding a pace from the initial contact the human merc eyed the Sith standing before her with new found respect. He had been trained well in the Jedi arts, and he was quick, very quick. Fluidly she resumed the ready stance, feet shoulder width apart and shoulders open, watching him for the slightest clue as to his next move. She had also been trained, and had a quiet confidence about her that she had gained from many battles for Clan Odan, and the Jedi who numbered amongst their ranks. The Sith leered at her menacingly, his gold and red eyes seeming to bore into her very core.

Pivoting on his forward foot his vibroblade spun around his body in a reverse grip, the speed of the spin aiding its momentum around to the target, the parabola a flat arc aiming at her midriff. Quo was light on his feet, the spin graceful as any dancer with his weight landing gently on the ball of his left foot ensuring his footing as he landed. The blade impacted halfway up the defensively positioned baton, the force driving it closer to Alethia's body with the force of the strike.

The Sith’s right foot whipped around led by his hip as he planted his foot into the cheek bone of the Human. Her head whipped viciously over her right shoulder with the sheer speed of the kick, a spray of crimson arcing away from the impact point. A cut just below her right eye was bleeding freely, the skin being split in a jagged slash standing out from the pale skin of her face. She rolled to absorb as much of the impact as possible, rolling to her left as the saber blade whizzed past her head, less than an inch of separation between life and death.

A growl escaped the Zabrak’s vocoder as he finished the spin with a flourish of his blade, bringing it back to waist height in front of him. With bent knees, left foot before right, his vibro blade still in its reverse grip pointing diagonally away from his lower body. His eyes were burning like the fires of Hell, his connection to the Dark Side fuelled by his anger and pride welled within his veins fuelling his body like an aphrodisiac.

Alethia rolled once, then twice, gripping her stun baton firmly while scrambling for the SE-14c strapped to her hip. When she came out of the roll, she came up shooting, the burst fire spewing almost a dozen bolts in a matter of seconds. Quo registered the danger before he saw the blaster, bringing his saber up to defend himself - but almost all of the off-handed shots went wild. Still, they’d served their purpose. The Zabrak held back for a moment, allowing Alethia a chance to get her feet back under her.

Her chilly stare fixed on his eyes, unperturbed by the fires of hatred burning within them or the blood still trickling down her cheek. The Human leveled her blaster at the Sith’s head as she held his gaze for a few heartbeats, then abruptly brought it down to loose another burst at his knee. Quo shifted his weight forward and over his right leg, swiftly bringing his saber down. He easily deflect the attack, redirecting the crimson bolts off into the storm. Alethia waited until he’d just committed to bringing his weight back to his midline before dropping her baton and firing a dart into Quo’s left bicep.

The Z6 barely touched the ground before it was back in the Major’s hand, and she brought it up to defend herself from the whirlwind she’d reaped. Hissing, Quo battered her from both sides with attacks, trying to break down her defense as expertly spun the baton between blade and saber.

Alethia knew she couldn’t keep the attacks at bay forever; she also knew that she didn’t have to. As the Zabrak forced her back towards the edge of the landing pad inch by inch, his arm gradually began to slow and waiver. It was throwing off his balance slightly, and Archenksova saw her opening. She threw her weight into intercepting Quo’s lightsaber, batting it away. As the baton rebounded from the plasma forcefield, she ripped her arm back and caught Quo’s next attack with a loud crack as the stun baton struck the hand clutching his vibroblade.

The Zabrak grunted as his arm flailed back and his vibroblade went sailing off into the depths. He skittered back a few paces as he brought his lightsaber back around to guard his body and eyed his prey warily. The Sith kept watch for more tricks as he tried in vain to flex his fingers. Broken, he thought as the pain shot through his arm, but far from worthless.

Quo roared as he threw his battered hand out, willing his pain and hatred and humiliation to boil out at his enemy. Whatever the Odanite woman had planned, the lightning arcing forth from Quo’s fingers took her by surprise. With gasp of pain, she fell to one knee and the stun baton slipped from her fingers.

Every nerve in his hand roared in agony as the lightning poured out of him, but in a moment it was gone. The Sith was panting to catch his breath, but when his eyes readjusted to the darkness, Archenksova was struggling unsuccessfully to get to her feet again.

The Zabrak smirked as he raised his lightsaber above his head and started running. With a primal warcry he hurled himself through the air, twisting his body to leverage all of his weight as he brought the glowing blade down on his enemy.

Alethia twitched as she pushed off the platform with the leg she’d balanced her weight on, rolled over onto her back and brought her left arm up to point at Quo. There was a whoosh, almost drowned out by the Sith’s battlecry, as the rocket propelled itself from under her sleeve.

The Zabrak’s eyes went wide as he realized what was coming towards him, but he channeled his shock and fury into his arm, bringing his weapon down with lightning quickness to intercept the rocket. The back half of the rocket spiraled off into the night as Quo’s crimson blade cut the projectile cleanly in half - but the payload hissed as it fell into a lazy somersault over his head and to the ground, puffing out from the hole he’d cut in the gas canister.

Quo rolled to a stop having cleared the human mercenary, his left hand aiding his balance as his feet gripped the steel of the platform, pain shooting through it as it impacted the decking. Crouching down he eyed Archenksova through the rain as it lashed down. Gas from the rocket still vented into the atmosphere five meters behind him, the wind making the plume dance into a random pattern as it flowed from the cannister.

His eyes narrowed, a look of intense concentration crossing his face, the pain from his useless left arm was fuelling his anger, his anger fuelling his grip on the Dark Side of the Force. His right hand raised in front of him, the saber hilt gripped in the three smaller fingers of his grip as his index finger raised, the thumb closing towards it slowly and deliberately.

Alethia felt rather than saw pressure building around her right hand as the baton twisted in her grip, the magnetic handle writhing beneath her gloved fingers. The twisting of the metal increased as the molecules inside it began to lose their adhesion to each other, the Z6 beginning to spiral into a contorted shape through Quo's ministrations.

He didn't have to destroy it completely, just make it near on impossible to use effectively. As the conductor vanes twisted and buckled they splayed outwards like the petals of some exotic flower, the power connection dissipating without their control. The main shaft drooped as Quo's hand moved around, warping the once offensive weapon into a tangle of mashed metal, the hand grip folding in on itself, trapping the gloved fingers of the mercenary, crunching the bones beneath the leather, breaking them and pinning them into the contorted shape of the now second hand Z6.

Alethia roared in pain at the pressure being exerted on her body, spittle flying from her lips as bone and sinew were ground together. The pain was intense, she could feel it throughout her whole body, the spasms making her legs unresponsive to her desire to stand. More of a reflex than a planned response her left hand shot upwards, the blaster held within it spitting bolts in a desperate attempt to assuage the assault. Quo saw it, turning his left arm towards it, allowing the shot to hit his upper arm. The arm was next to useless as it was, a blaster wound wouldn't harm it any further, and the weapon was in her weaker hand.

Moving quickly Quo leapt to closed the gap. Through her pain the Odanite attempted to bring the Zabrak down, multiple shots heading in his direction, although most of them were wide of the mark. Still she pressed the trigger, she was following the rule that the more shots there were in the air at any given moment the more the chance of scoring a telling hit on the target. Blaster bolts went off in volleys, the spasms of pain that shot through her from her crushed right hand only aiding her trigger finger. Volley after volley erupted from the blaster.

Quo's saber danced a tattoo, deflecting those shots that appeared to be close to striking their target, ignoring those that were going wide. As he closed the distance the amount that could potentially hit him increased as the arc of fire angle was reduced. Whipping his wrist around and upwards he took the blaster just behind the foresight slicing it into two pieces, the molten ends of the cut fizzing with the spatters of rain that hit them. Sacrificing his defence for attack to eliminate the danger had cost him though, a couple of the bolts had got through. One of the bolts had struck him in the left shoulder, the other in the side.

With a roar Quo brought down the saber again, slicing through the right wrist of the mercenary, severing the hand and baton in one fluid movement. Standing over her he was breathing heavily, his crimson gold flecked eyes staring down at his opponent, his saber levelled at her chest. Fire burned within him, he really wanted to finish her, but that would be frowned upon. Still battling the internal conflict he doused his blade, turning without a word. With a sense of unfulfilled glory filling his heart he walked away, disappearing into the storm.