Leon Reht was exceptional. His mother had told him that since the day he had been born, twenty seven years before the attack on the Jagged Fel, on the planet Entralla. His family was not extraordinary, despite their claims that their son was. Leon's father was a clerk in the local Imperial governance offices, mid level. Nothing that would mean big money, but enough for his wife and son to live comfortably. Leon's mother was a trainer for the Stormtroopers that enlisted on the planet. That was how Leon joined the Imperial military at the age of twenty-six. When his mother died in early battles between The True Empire and the Triumvirate, Leon enlisted in the military the next day through some of her friends, thirsting for the front lines and the vengeance that would come with the battles.

His entire life, things had come... rather easily to him. Sports, academia, success. All were as natural to the soldier as breathing. His childhood was full of accolades – and bruises – to show his many victories. So it came as no surprise to anyone who knew the boy that, when he scored in the top of his enlistment class one month after Revan's death, he was quickly pulled through the military to join the most dangerous, most skilled, and, above all else, the most lucky soldiers in the galaxy. Leon knew that his late mother's dreams of his greatness had come true when he had been assigned to advanced training with the Sith Special Forces, one of a dozen applicants. The only one who was picked, at the end of it.

Suddenly, the young human's life had become a whirlwind of danger, excitement, and swashbuckling heroics on the battlefield. In the two months since he had joined the Special Forces unit, he had gone on four missions. Of those four missions, he had been vital in the success of four. While awarding the Imperial Medal of Honor to the young man, Commander Tarava had remarked that he had never before seen a soldier with such determination to succeed and the skill to actually do so. That ceremony had been the last time that Leon had seen his father, who had died during a vacation retreat with his co workers when the ship had been attacked by the Triumvirate's forces.

So now that the same thing was happening to the Jagged Fel above Taris – a fact that made Leon... laugh, for some reason – made his excitement at the blood he would soon shed all the greater. Vengeance for his mother and father would soon be his. Still, though, he did not forget his training or discipline. Tarava had pounded into his skull over the course of the past four months of training, and Leon hated to disappoint.

"We're heading to the bridge in five, Squad," Tarava snapped to his five subordinates in the room. He was, of course, already ready. His black and white armor contrasted greatly with the bloody red of his skin. "So hurry your kriffin asses up."

"Sir!" the entire group shouted as they continued to dress. First, Leon pulled the black undersuit over his head, the skintight suit conforming to his body and humming slightly as it prepared to lock the armor itself into place. Next, he pulled the gray torso armor over his head, locking the chest piece and causing the hum to quiet. His finger traced across the rank and awards emblazoned on the uniform in the usual Imperial manner, colored boxes on the left side of the chest. From there, Leon began to pull the rest of the armor. Thigh armor attached via electro-magnetic energy to the undersuit, followed by the gray-black boots. Shoulder pauldrons and gloves next. Leon smiled as he pulled on the left bracer, into which he had carved four simple lines, a symbol tattooed similarly onto his right shoulder. Finally, he grabbed the helmet. It was gray and silver, with a dull shine to it. The face of the helmet was all black plasteel surrounded by what could only be described as a predatory maw, at least in shape. It gave the enemy the idea that the Sith Empire was going to consume them. When he finished, his body was covered with the silvery-gray armor, save the area above his joints. Despite the strength of his armor, it gave him excellent maneuverability. Still, if he took enough blaster fire, the magnetic locks of the armor would fail and he would be left as defenseless as any. And if a lightsaber were to strike him? Leon did not like to dwell on the thought.

Leon then grabbed his blaster rifle, pistol, and extendable vibrosword and magnetically locked them to his suit. In the history of the Imperial tests, no one had scored higher in use of the vibrosword than Leon Reht. True, he was no Imperial Knight or Sith Warrior, but he was good enough to take pretty much any normal swordsman in a fight, fair or not.

"Ready, Saber?" Tarava asked Leon a moment later, using the nickname assigned based on his personal weapon skill set. The commander had personalized armor, emblazoned in the colors of old stormtroopers with small, yet cruel, horns sticking out from where his own natural ones would be.

Leon turned and saluted his commanding officer. "When am I not, Sir?" he asked as he pulled his blaster rifle from over his shoulder. "When I save the ship, I'm taking that one as five."

"Well, you cocky little kriff, you haven't been wrong yet," the commander replied. He laughed, a boisterous, echoing noise over the comms. "Don't start now." Tarava then turned to the squad as a whole. "Saber, you go ahead and scout things out. Find the easiest path to the bridge. Tank, take point for the rest of the team." A Whipid in armor nodded and pulled a huge durasteel slab to be used as a shield off of his back. As Leon ran off, alone, to chart the best way to the bridge, Tarava called after him. "Saber! May the Force be with you."

"Ain't it always?" Leon asked, backpedaling for a moment and grinning arrogantly behind his helmet.

SWSWSWSWSW

Leon crouched before the control conduit of the blast door to the bridge, the dead bodies of countless Triumvirate soldiers littering the halls behind him. He had been ordered to find a path of least resistance to the bridge, and that was close to what he had done. "You can't always find the best way," his mother had once told Stormtroopers during demolitions training, "but you can always blow up the rest of the ways." As he fiddled with the damaged control components to the bridge door, Leon couldn't help but think her heads on approach had been right.

"Now, is it red wire/blue wire, or is it green wire/orange wire..?" he asked himself. Footsteps thudded down the hallway behind him at a full sprint. Messy, uncoordinated. Not his unit. Leon pulled his blaster out and fired three quick shots down the hall without looking, killing the Triumvirate soldiers that had seen him. "Oh, no, it's red and orange. Okay." He pulled the two wires out and the door ahead of him snapped open.

"It's a Sith! Get him!" one of the voices inside urged as the door opened. Leon groaned and dodged around the nearby hallway intersection as blaster fire filled the area he had just been in. He peered around the corner and fired a few blasts, taking down two Triumvirate soldiers. Unfortunately, it seemed as if the entire bridge was filled with soldiers to replace any that fell. Whatever they were after on the Jagged was worth sending more troops than was necessary.

Leon grinned. "Oh, I'll be taking six and seven for this, too," he smirked as he fired a shot through the doors to the bridge.

"Oh, no. You've only taken one for more than this," Tarava stated over comms. Leon laughed to himself as the Whipid form of Tank ran down the hallway, the slab of durasteel magnetically locked to his arm taking the brunt of blaster fire from the Triumvirate forces. The rest of the squad came into view behind the huge soldier and began to take positions killing the Triumvirates, or Trirals. "Kriff, this isn't even actually a mission, Saber."

Leon smiled behind his mask as he turned past the edge of the hall and fired another volley from his pistol, claiming the life of another Triral. The unit itself was a lot like a family, the young man supposed. Tarava was very much a mentor or father figure, comfortable but firm with the soldiers under his charge. While it seemed that the Devaronian was incredibly lax with his soldiers, Leon knew that could not be further from the truth. During his induction to the unit, on the first two missions, the Commander had been incredibly firm, especially in training. A real hard ass. Every maneuver had to be perfect, every movement must be synced up perfectly with the movements of every other soldier. As soon as Tarava had seen that Leon could be trusted to execute his job every time, and exceptionally well at that, he had quickly become the much more jovial man that he was around his subordinates.

This manner of command payed off incredibly well on the calm side as well. Tarava confidence in his soldiers seemed to only magnify their skill, with the gunner, shield tech, and all others functioning at a level they did not believe they had been capable of before becoming part of that unit. It gave, at least to them, credence to the biological statement that an organism is greater than the sum of its parts. As calm as the Commander was, his soldiers were just as comfortable with each other. They almost seemed to communicate without speaking. And, in Leon's case, he could nearly act before the rest of the squad even knew what they needed. Leon had eery instincts, and he knew when to trust them. Leon turned his attention away from the battle his allies were engaging in, and fired at the slight shimmers in the hallway behind the squad. Triumvirate stealth assault droids fizzled as their stealth units broke and their power cells were interrupted.

As the well oiled machine of the Special Forces Unit emptied the steady stream of Trirals in the bridge, Leon could not help but shake a bad feeling. It had come suddenly, and it felt worse than any other he had ever gotten while on mission. It was vague, though, and he could not tell what his instincts were telling him to hide from, so he fought on. "Grenade!" Tank shouted as a small ball rolled past his shield. He turned and slammed the slab on top of the orb, hoping to save his crew. It was worse than the Whipid had expected, however. When the grenade exploded, it was with an ion stream preceded by an electromagnetic pulse. Leon gasped, as did the Commander and the rest of the crew, as their armor deactivated they were left defenseless. Tank, out in front of the squad, stood no chance. Blaster fire rained down on him and he roared in pain and, eventually, death. As he breathed his last, Leon felt a fire of rage ignite in his stomach.

He turned the corner, blaster rifle and pistol drawn, as his armor fell from his body. He screamed in rage, deaf to his Commander's commands to stop. He dodged under and around the blaster fire that streamed towards him, always in the one spot where the beams of plasma were not. His weapons never stopped firing as he did so, each bolt claiming the life of one of the enemy soldiers just moments before the next did the same. Leon entered the room without a single scratch of damage on him, having already claimed the lives of dozens of Triral soldiers. As the last enemy soldier died, Leon dropped his weapons and began slamming his fist into the enemy's face. "Saber." Leon ignored the voice. "Saber." His fists felt so good pounding into the Triumvirate's face. "Leon!"

The soldier snapped up, breathing heavily. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Sir," he said finally, standing at attention. "I..."

"Get some new armor for yourself, kid. Ours is fried," Cypher, Tarava's nickname for Tech Sergeant Xera, a Chiss woman, said. Leon sighed, but nodded. He peeled some Triumvirate armor off of one of the nearby soldiers and took of his helmet before placing the triumvirate armor over his shoulders. It was lighter, thinner, like a slightly thicker version of the undersuit. It was made for quick, unimpeded strikes, not the type of battle the Empire had prepared for. Unlike his armor, his superior comm had been shielded, partially, by the specialized wiring of both itself and the helmet, but was still rebooting, so he left it in. The red and white armor of the Triumvirate soldier felt odd on his shoulders, like a diseased weight had been placed on him. It was with this feeling that he passed Tank's body, the rage flaring up again for a moment, to collect his vibrosword. He came back a moment later to see Cypher and Tarava crouched over the central computer. "The download's almost complete, Sir."

"What download, Sir?" Leon asked his commander.

The Devaronian, steely and cold for once, ignored Leon and looked over at Turret and Shot, the other two surviving members of the squad. "Cover the entrance," he told them. He looked over at Cypher, who nodded and unplugged an EMP shielded datapad. "Good. Now that the data is downloaded, we can get off of this ship."

"All of you, under the authority of the Jedi Council, Alliance Chancellor, and the Moff Council... surrender," a new voice called. Shot and Turret were on the ground, groaning and clutching at the stumps of their arms. Leon's gaze went red with a rage he was not entirely sure was his own. A Jedi in plain, brown robes stood between the smoking limbs of Shot and Turret, his blue saber extended out from his left hand. Brown, calculating eyes gazed out beneath clean cut blonde hair.

The room was quiet for a moment. Finally, a power conduit exploded behind the Jedi, catching his attention. Cypher deactivated a holo computer from her undersuit and turned to Tarava and Leon. "We need to hurry," she said. Tarava nodded and grabbed the datapad from Cypher's hand.

"We need to kill him!" Leon snapped, drawing his vibrosword.

"Don't be stupid, he's a Jedi!" Cypher said as another of the conduits exploded, timed as she had programmed it to do so. The Jedi stopped before the electrocuted plasma could hit him. She grabbed Leon's shoulder and dragged him alongside her and Tarava to the other exit. "It'll take me a moment to open the door. Just don't die."

Leon nodded, but was surprised when Tarava turned to him. "You are the best soldier I have ever seen, Leon," he said. Leon's eyes widened – the Commander never used real names. Not even in the awards ceremonies. Tarava stuck his hand out and grabbed Leon's with his other before dropping a small drive into his hand. "You're in disguise. You're the most likely to live."

Another conduit exploded. "Sir, I can open the door, but then it will be open. Unless..."

"What?" Tarava asked as he drew his vibrosword and stood between the Jedi and his men. The Jedi raised his saber and pointed it at the unit, demanding their surrender.

"Unless I stay on this side and seal it again," Cypher said sullenly as the door slid open. Tarava sighed, then turned and shoved Leon through the open door.

"Fly, you fool," Tarava told the wide eyed Leon. He turned back to the Jedi, who shook his head disappointingly. "Do it." A cursory glance at Cypher, and she knew to seal the door again. Before Leon could run back in to save his... his family, the door slammed shut right before him.

"NO!" Leon screamed as he fell to his knees. He dropped the datapad and pounded on the bulkhead with open palms, begging to be let back in. The noises behind the door echoed into his ears: a lightsaber humming and burning through the air, carving through the bodies of Leon's unit, his friends. Then it went quiet. "No..."

Then a blue blade erupted through the bulkhead right next to Leon's head, the heat of the plasma burning his face and the magnetic field causing his hair to stick straight up. He kneeled there, frozen for a moment. Then the lightsaber began to drag through the bulkhead, melting down the barrier between Leon and the Jedi. With a single snarl of rage, Leon finally did as his commanding officer had ordered. He grabbed the datapad and tore its data storage unit out. He thought, for a brief moment, to draw his vibrosword and die, taking the Jedi with him if he could. Instead, he turned and ran, knowing he would never forgive the Jedi. His vision went red again and he ran, almost feeling sorry for the next group of Trirals he happened upon. He had a lot of rage he needed to work out.