It was the dream that woke him, or at least he thought it was. It was not a bad dream, really, but it was not a good one either. It seemed more like a memory, a review of the worst of his life repeated over and over until it culminated into a wave of emotion so powerful even the thought of it made him dizzy.

The memory of Alderaan plagued him frequently, but not like this. Many people knew that he hailed from there, but few knew of the pain he still bore, the anger in his father’s eyes moments before the planet erupted. Of course, that was a long time ago and none but Gelu Torva knew the entire story; none but her had stood by his side through it all.

Gelu…that was another recurring theme in his dreams of late and indeed had been since the time she left. His first apprenticeship, started with a lie, ended with a lie. But she had been more than a student; she had been his friend, his confidant, his lover. He had thought they would walk together forever, unstoppable. But she had forsaken him and the paths of light, seduced by a man who called himself Demios.

Raztlain had always wanted his chance to prove himself against Demios, but he had never found him, he had never been able to save Gelu from his clutches, and where she was now was anyone’s guess. Then again, he had never really tried. He had hidden behind his duties to the Council, to the other students. He never sought far because that might interfere with his teaching of Cyan.

Cyan.

Another sore point.

His second apprentice, his second failure. He had been so sure that he could mold Cyan into a paragon for the light. There was no attachment to him, no fatherly emotions, no brotherly feeling. It had been a bond of teacher and student, just the way it should be. But Cyan had walked away as well, forsaken the teaching of the Jedi just like Darwin had.

Another failure.

Darwin had left the academy while Raztlain was in charge, before Skywalker had come back to put everything straight. Luke had trusted Alies, and Alies had failed. Malius too had paid the price for Raztlain’s failures. He taken a mission that Alies was too timid to take, and paid for it with his life.

The council had dissolved, by the time Luke returned only Alies and Streen remained, and they oft disagreed on how things were best done. It was the mark of Raztlain’s life, one failure after another: his Father, Gelu, Cyan, Darwin, Luke, the Republic…himself.

But that was not it, not entirely. That feeling of emotion that had ripped him from his dreams had carried more than Raztlain’s usual feelings of pain, anger, and regret. There had been love so powerful that the Emperor himself would have wept; joy so empowering that one could almost hear singing. Those, assuredly, were emotions that Alies had forgotten in his self imposed exile.

He sighed and rose from his bed; a cup (or more) of coffee was in order. In his shabby Coruscant apartment it was only a few steps from bed to kitchen (the area on the wall dedicated to the three feet of cabinet space and one burner. He moved to open the drawer where the coffee was kept and stopped short.

Instead of coffee he found himself staring at a relic from the past. He had intended on stepping to the kitchen but instead found himself stooped over a small table by the refresher door looking into a small drawer that had not been opened in years. It held only one item, something that had once been part of himself. His lightsaber.

Slowly he picked it up and weighed it in his hands, felt the cool metal and imagined a shimmering blade. He stood thus for a long time, perhaps minutes, perhaps hours, while memories of his former days flooded his mind, and still the wave of emotion echoed in the silence.

Someone, somewhere, needed guidance.

“I…am…no…longer…Jedi,” he whispered, but even to himself it sounded more like a question.

He stirred. The green eyes moved under the closed lids, the only sign of life in the heap that he was on the floor. His face twitched, the audio-sensory stimulus of his environment slowly bringing his consciousness back to the forefront of his mind. Sounds issued from his mouth, a garble of incoherent syllables punctuated by a moan, but nothing that actually made sense. Despite the brevity of this jumble, the thought behind it had been a question, wondering why the guys were making so much damn noise. And who had opened a window. Jerrod lay in the debris strewn living area, the cool night air wafting in through the opening that had once been a glass window. The heavy whooshing of the breeze as it entered the room and the ever constant noises of the city worked to kindle the spark of life back into him, forcing his brain to try and assimilate the information it received from the senses.

His left eye slowly opened, the right side of his face pressing against the dirty, hard flooring. His mouth was open, a little pool of drool adding to the odd mixture of booze, blood, cleaning supplies, grime, dirt or illicit products that had graced this surface throughout the years. He slowly pushed himself off into a semi-recumbent position. He supported his weight with one hand, wiping his mouth with the other, and noticed the dried blood that had trailed down from his nose. Ugh... His vision swam before him and he closed his eyes, gagging some but managing to suppress the urge to be sick. Dared he try getting up? No... he wouldn’t try it just yet.

Slowly, he opened his eyes once more and looked around the room, taking in the sight. His body tensed up and his throat swelled, a new wave of retching coming over him. This time though, he didn’t and couldn’t stop himself. Well, there went the last threads of his dignity: noisily and uncouthly. What had he done?... How could he have... destroyed the room so? Had he gone into a fit of some sort and trashed it in a berserker mood? Oh geez... He couldn’t put it off any longer, could he? He needed help... Maybe being institutionalized was the best thing for him after all. He noticed the hypo-syringe and vial next to him and picked them up, throwing both away as far as he could...

They didn’t go far. He hadn’t enough strength to make them land with the other junk around the room, still too wobbly from both his recent fit and the amount of drugs he had taken who were finally taking their effect. Standing up was possibly worse what with no furniture around to help him heave himself. It took a good five minutes before he was back on his feet, knees slightly bent inwards as he slowly made his way towards the door. Air... he needed air. He wanted to take a walk to clear his mind. But the stupid sofa was angled as to block the door... Damn thing. And so he worked for another ten minutes, pulling, pushing, moving the furniture only a few centimetres, if that, every so often as he fought feebly with it.

And no one came. He’d been out cold for about an hour, and no one had come. It was still early as far as clubbing went, so the band hadn’t come back... and probably wouldn’t for another few hours. What they’d say when they’d find this scene, he didn’t know or even think about. No neighbours had stopped by either. Had they even been woken up? The pad had been sound-proofed for their musical purposes, so risk of having heard were slim. But they must have felt the thuds, surely? But no... this wasn’t the upper levels of Coruscant... The pad was situated rather low in terms of levels and the neighbourhood wasn’t all that tasteful. People tended to leave you to your devices and no one really bothered with their neighbours here. Unless a blaster was fired or a body was found, they didn’t give a damn; and even then...

He made his way through the deserted streets, his pace slow and mournful. The district was more seedy than hellish, so a walk in the streets, although not recommended, was not akin to committing suicide. They were deserted, and he was glad. He looked horrible, even more so than after tonight’s ruined gig, so he was thankful he wouldn’t bump into anyone he knew. Not that he knew many people at this level anyway. A muffled buzzing had crept into his mind again, but the drugs were numbing him enough that he didn’t much mind. The flashes of translucent colours and lights were still swimming before him, but they were subdued, duller.

Had he been able to scream, he’d have. Had he embraced the Force and trained his abilities since teenage-hood, he’d have heard the thoughts... Well, had he embraced and trained the Force within him, he’d have saved himself alot of grief over the years... but that aside, he’d have been ready. Instead, a webbed hand grabbed him and dragged him down an alleyway, pulling him down a slant leading to even less friendly territory. Although his mouth opened, nothing more than surprised pants came out as an Aqualish rushed him. But if Jerrod’s protest were almost silent, his groggy mind had received a jolt and was slowly regaining its full capacities. Internally, he was shouting for mercy, for help… begging for pity. But no one could actually hear him, not when it was all in your head…

His attacker spoke in muffled and limited Basic with a thick accent, blaster aimed at Jerrod’s torso. Jerrod instinctively reached for the blaster hanging in the holster to his side but grasped at nothing. Dunce! He’d taken that off during his tremendous efforts at moving the sofa and hadn’t rearmed himself. “Give me money!” grunted the Aqualish, waving his blaster. Jerrod commenced to protest that he didn’t have any, but the thug re-aimed his blaster and shot. He had intended to hit Jerrod on the shoulder to incapacitate him, but the shot hit the duracrete wall where Jerrod had been mere seconds ago.

How had he known that he had to move? He didn’t know, and frankly, didn’t care. True, his reaction time should have been worsened thanks to the Nyex—his physical abilities limited despite his mind sobering up—but this instinctive reaction was not to be questioned. The Aqualish fired at him once more and growled in his native tongue, no doubt swearing. And again, Jerrod dodged. He wasn’t moving fast, but as long as this was keeping him alive, things were fine, right? But the alien didn’t seem to appreciate this little dance one bit. He threw his blaster on the ground and lunged towards Jerrod to try and finish him off with a more personal touch. Quite temperamental these Aqualish, weren’t they? But again, Jerrod dodged. Slowly at first but now more quickly, Jerrod felt anger swell within him. A tremendous rage. He felt as though a plan had gone horribly wrong and all he wanted to do was to kill that annoying alien that had ruined his mugging attempt… no… his walk. A walk. He had been out to walk, not to mug someone. And although he had just attempted to block the Aqualish from grabbing, Jerrod now threw himself at him as best he could to choke the life out of him. And all the while, the buzzing in his head grew clearer and stronger, someone shouting in anger in what he recognized as Aqualish. Surely not in his mind, he was hearing the alien shout at him… But even as he wrestled to try and squeeze his hands around the neck, he heard him shout “You pay!” in Basic this time. The two voices united and superimposed themselves, one directly in his mind and the other from having been heard. And all the while, the guttural sounds in his mind intensified to the point of causing him pain. “Stop it!” He shouted, ordering the alien “Stop it! STOP IT! I'LL KILL YOU!” and he had no idea if he was verbally shouting at him or replying in kind with a barrage against his attacker’s mind.

As he still fought him with the same anger, matching him in rage, the translucent colors and lights converged around the Aqualish who started to tremble unnaturally. Anger turned into fear, and fear into panic… And Jerrod had little choice but to mimic this emotion, leeching it off the alien. The colors flashed around him, and in a last ditch effort to escape, the Aqualish was sent flying across the alley to connect with the opposing wall. His body hit head first and he fell with a thud, a pool of blood forming around his ugly bald cranium thanks a gash.

For Jerrod, it was as if he was awaking from a long sleep, his mind suddenly clearing. The panic he felt slowly dissipated as he backed up against the other wall to catch his breath and assess the situation. That’s when he noticed the blood and the motionless alien. Almost simultaneously, his jaw dropped and his eyes widened, the realization of what had happened hitting him like a slap in the face. He had heard the Aqualish’s voice in his head: that much he was certain of. He couldn’t deny it. Did that mean, that all those other voices swarming about… were they of the dozens or more people standing next to him at the time of his attacks? And how had he managed to throw the alien without actually lifting him? It was just like the room, wasn’t it? Did that mean that he was?… No. No, no, no, no… He couldn’t be. It was impossible. For minutes he just kept starring at the lifeless alien, a fear very much of his own filling his mind. Then suddenly, without thinking, he picked up the discarded blaster pistol and walked away, soon breaking into a run (more like a slow jog thanks to Nyex) to escape the scene. And all the while, he was screaming in his mind.

---------------------------------------------

He didn’t know how long he had been escaping for. Or what he was escaping from for that matter. But deep down? He didn’t really want to know; didn’t care to know. It had felt like a long time and that’s all that mattered to him. The slow jog had ended some time ago and all he could do now was walk slowly and stagger as though he were drunk. Indeed, he probably looked like he was one major "boozie" who had been in a fist fight. But that didn’t bother him. It might have bothered his parents, but they were safe and cozy on Rhinnal and what they didn’t know couldn’t hurt them. And frankly, looking as he did, he appeared less inconspicuous in this part of town. And this time he was armed, the Aqualish's blaster stuffed into his trousers' pockets with only the handle sticking out.

Getting rather exhausted from the tremendously hectic day he had been through so far, Jerrod finally came to a stop and rested against a building, taking in his surroundings. The area appeared deserted and the only noises came from the skylanes way high above. It was still pretty dark, but then again, things were always pretty dark in lower-income neighbourhoods. A few blocks down appeared to be a 24 hour diner that probably stayed opened all 5 days of the week and only ever rarely closed. He knew the type.

He slowly made his way to it, the door sliding away to give him access as he passed in front. The soles of his boots stuck to the floor as he made his way to a booth at the far end of the establishment, sitting in the end seat as to get a good view of the door. A young but shabby looking waitress slowly made her way towards him with indifference. He was thankful his life didn’t depend on her. He was pretty sure he’d have time to die before she’d reach him should he have sported a life threatening injury.

The diner was in the Med'soto style, meaning that everything was outdated and faded. In fact, it was like stepping back in time. And he was pretty sure the place hadn’t been cleaner in its heydays. Even the brunette waitress in her cheap suit looked kitsch. The grease-speckled establishment probably attracted a clientele of itinerant freighter pilots, dock workers and other oddball assortments during the day. But at this time of night? The place was empty. The owner was probably running this business as a front for a smuggling operation and had his night cook covering for him. Yeah… that must be it. At least it usually was the case in holodramas. And the food was bound to be cheap, oily and unhealthy. If he had any care for his arteries, he’d stay clear of sustenance. Not that he had any money… so he had just came in here to catch a breath and relax. He was sure the waitress would glare at him when he’d ask for some water and nothing else. Probably ask him to leave too.

“What can I getcha?” she asked, the annoying twang of her voice making Jerrod shudder a little. “I’ll just have…” he started, but before he could answer her, he turned his head upwards and looked at the ceiling where hidden speakers were providing background music: Every day a little death..., he heard himself singing, Every day a little death, your mind drowning in thoughts that aren’t yours. Cast out of your body until your soul is bare, you wake up to find nothing is as it seems...

You have got to be kidding me, he thought. “You have got to be kidding me”, he said aloud. “What is this? Some kind of galactic joke?” He was not impressed.

“Hey! I happen to like WarpDrive” piped in the brunette, affronted. “I couldn’t get time awf to go see them tonight, but my friend went. She said it was amazing until they sang this song. Then everything went crazy, and poor Jerrod…”

“…was conked on the head with a chair some moron threw at him? Yeah, I know” he cut her. “My head still hurts” he added, pointing at the side of his head where he had been hit.

“Nah… you can’t be… him” She said sceptically, squinting and scrutinizing him with her eyes. And as he rolled his, he lifted the side of his shirt to reveal his birthmark. If she truly was a fan, she’d know about it.

“Oh my gawd! I knew it had to be you! I just didn’t think it was…” she exclaimed shrilly in a muffled voice as not to draw the cook’s attention. A few seconds later, he was signing an autograph and informed her as gently as he could that all he wanted was a glass of water and to be left alone. But she pushed him for more. Clearly he couldn’t settle just for water. She rushed to get him a cup of coffee, “On the hawse!”, despite his protest. “It’s just a cup of cawfee. The boss won’t mind. ‘Sides, it’s my treat. Don’t chu werry about it”.

Just a cup of coffee? He highly doubted that. She had come back with a cup that was as clean as one could expect from this place and it was filled with this awful looking grey liquid. It smelled foul but was steaming hot, which felt nice for his hands as he clutched the mug. He thanked the waitress with a feeble smile and turned his attention to the liquid inside, staring at it, transfixed as though it would reveal some secret. The waitress eyed him for a few seconds, half admiring him, half wondering what was wrong, before walking away behind the bar to occupy herself with re-arranging a few bottles of this and a couple of that. And all the while, she gave him furtive glances. Ten minutes later, she had retreated in the employee-only section leaving Jerrod to his thoughts. No doubt she had been disenchanted by her idol who had proved to be aloof. Not that he really cared at this point, or notice that he appeared to be alone in the diner for his thoughts were of the night he had been through so far, eyes still fixated on the coffee which was slowly losing its heat as time went by. Coruscant could have gone up in flames outside the diner’s windows and he still wouldn’t have noticed.

Her continued to twirl the weapon idly, his mind a rampage of thoughts and emotions. Jedi were supposed to forsake emotions such as passion and attachment, anger or fear. A life devoid of such pleasures that every other sentient was granted. That was where Alies failed; he had thought to secure his place within the annals of the Jedi BY his emotions. He had thought that one could make use of powerful emotions, so long as he, or she, was able to control it and place the Force above all.

But that was too difficult, to demanding to place the whims of the mystical Force above the needs of your family, or friends…or lovers. Gelu had relied on him to teach her how to come to terms with the demands of the Force; what he had taught her was to rely on her emotions too much, to give in where she ought not. And she turned to the Dark Side.

Why now then, if the Force actually guided its users, why would it guide him to this youth that so badly needed aid? Assuredly Skywalker would be better suited to confront this person. For, equally as assuredly, this one was powerful for Raztlain to be able to sense him at all, especially after so long of trying in vain to ignore the Force. But it was there noen-the-less, that feeling of need, an urging for Alies to go, to find, and to protect yet another Force Sensitive.

He sighed. He had not really left the Order so much as allowed it to fade from his mind. He could remember some two years ago having asked advice from Luke concerning Gelu. Luke understood; after all, he had Mara to look after. Luke had granted him a furlough in which to try to locate her once again. Once again he had failed, but rather than return to Yavin and face Luke with another failure he had remained on Coruscant, the last traceable location of his former lover.

He cast his eyes towards the drawer, intent of replacing the weapon, only to blink in surprise. The saber was now dangling from his belt, place in its rightful place as if old habits were still strong in his mind. He smiled ruefully and scrubbed his beard. He had never really left the Force, he only thought he had. In fact, when he thought about it he was using the Force every day, relying on it to keep him out of trouble, allowing it to guide his decsisions (unless it were to return to Yavin), and using it to aid him in trivial matters.

“I must go,” he finally decided. First, though, he would send a memo to Luke, it was time to stop hiding from his failures and face the future full on.

Sun had risen, early morning bringing about a renewal of the bustle that never truly died on Coruscant. But the rays didn’t truly reach him here where he was. He discarded the Aqualish’s blaster pistol in a trashcan after wiping it with his clothes to smear any prints he could have left on it. Quite stupid given he was probably leaving more evidence that way. Luck and patience had finally managed to bring him back to his worried bandmates who had come back from clubbing (inebriated) to the scene their cheap residence had been left in. They had all assumed the worst.

Authorities had been contacted and dealt with. Jerrod had concocted a story to the best of his abilities and had acted out being in a worse off condition that he truly was in. Being theatrical did have advantages. The officer dealing with him had quickly dismissed him after the formalities and sent him off to a MedCenter for a check-up (and a prescription). Yet why did he find it slightly unnatural the way the officer had accepted his story and had allowed him to go? No matter…

He had come back to the apartment to find the window being replaced and the boys, although slightly hungover and tired, replacing the furniture about. The damage, although not extensive, was obvious and mostly aesthetical. It wouldn’t interfere with their living here but the place looked like more a dump than ever thanks to him. Best not tell them a thing of what truly happened. Although he had told them the same story as the officer, he knew they didn’t truly believe him. He could feel it despite their reassuring pats on the back and clowning around.

A shower and a change of clothes later, Jerrod had taken his prescribed pills (who was he to defy doctor’s orders?) and had left the boys claiming he needed to speak to the officer again. In truth, he just wanted peace and quiet away from disbelieving friends. And so, he headed to the Boribos Prefecture looking for peace and quiet but only found annoyance. The buzzing drone in his mind only accentuated despite the medication and all he felt like doing was punch someone to vent out his frustrations. Couldn’t he just get a few moments’ peace?

It was because of Cambrist that, after he had showered and changed (wearing normal Coruscanti Street garb) Alies had stuffed his lightsaber in his deep coat pockets. He left the holo-screen on (which had been displaying some daytime host bantering about his views on Cambrist’s latest attack of the Jedi) and exited the trashy little apartment he’d leased some two years before.

During his shower he had decided that he had no time to wait on Luke’s answer, this person (if there truly was one {Alies had begun to think he may have imagined him}) needed help and guidance now, not later. Besides, there was no knowing when, or if, the Grand Master of the Jedi Order would even answer him.

Relying on the Force to show his way Raztlain simply began walking in what he hoped was the right direction. Luke had used this technique several years before in hopes of finding Han Solo, Alies only hoped that he could do as well. It was a curios thing to use the Force after so long of trying to hide from it, but it felt as natural as if he’d been doing it the entire time, and perhaps he had. Surely he’d have needed practice to keep himself tuned to that light beck and call.

As he turned his feet calmly and confidently the shades of Coruscant began to deepen and darken, turning lightly decorated streets into dingy alleys, fresh painted surfaces into graffitied masses, and well dressed beings into ragged clawing itinerant. Alies shuddered at the sight but the Force willed him to continue further.

Hours into his nomadic wandering, with filth literally clinging to his skin (so much for the shower) his feet stopped outside what appeared to be a night club of sorts. His frown deepened as he gazed at the billboard announcing bands and other forms of entertainment. At least he’d come to a cleaner part of the ecumenopolis.

The Force told him that there had clearly been some sort of a disturbance here, but the scene inside told him just as clearly that whatever it was had not been bad enough to fend off the nightly intoxication, dancing, and loud music. He winced as the beat of drums pelted his ears and echoed inside his head. Closing his eyes he once more allowed the Force to take his feet where it would.

Soon he stood next to another series of apartments that were, perhaps, even worse than his. He could feel a definite trail emanating from this place, warmer than before, but he could tell also that the aura that he sought was not inside. He could hear more loud music inside the dwelling but without the full fledged sounds of a party. Probably just some teenaged punks doing (what they considered) their part to defy authority. Likely they would all wake with hangovers tomorrow which would in turn give them a much needed excuse to lie about, jobless, and drawing well-fare. He mumbled something incoherent under his breath and followed the trail further.

It was not difficult to find the dead Aqualish, the Force aura lead straight to it. H ewaved away the gathering crowd with a simple mind trick. They fled from him like he was an angry, hungry Rancor; they’d be back. Curiosity was like that, no matter what the personal danger some could never resist the temptation to have a c;oser look. It was clear that the Force weilder had been here, what was not clear is what had happened to cause the death. Raztlain passed the body after only a cursory examination.

He spent less time at the diner; the overexuberant waitress going well beyond what was nessesary to answer his query. In seconds he had discovered that a young, and apparently famous boy had been here; given the state of the diner Alies could only assume that noone would have come here willingly. This lead him to belive (with a degree of certainty) that this was the person he was looking for.

From all the pieces he was able to gather he assumed that this youth, famous as he was, had been at the center of the earlier comotion at the concert hall, had fled and gotten into some sort of trouble with an Aqualish, sought reprive in the most backwater looking diner he could find, only to be hearded out by the incessant annoyance of the waiter.

He was back to square one with little choice but to return to the shabby appartment where he’d felt the youth’s fading aura.

Enough! He had come out here to get a change of air and of thoughts, but all he could do was dwell on last night’s events. Were they really last night’s? It all seemed like a fuzzy dream to him while he loitered around the Boribos Prefecture, somewhat stoned from the prescribed medication. Still, he couldn’t help but feel that he should head back home. The boys had been worried, and Jerrod felt he should probably fork up some credits to repair the dingy suite he had further ruined. A letter to mother and father was in order then. Arguing would probably follow as he would ask for them to transfer money to him from his trust fund. A trust fund he was bleeding dry with his antics. To blazes with his parents! They had no clue what he was going through. And whose fault is that? A little voice told him. Oh dear… was his subconscious acting up after all these years? Har har. Just what he needed.

He was back in his neighborhood within the same amount of time the trip had taken him to get to the prefecture. And as he walked towards his building, he heard it. Well, felt it, rather. Something in his head. Felt some other presence in the vicinity. It stuck out and he didn’t truly know how to describe the feeling he was experiencing. This sensation was entirely new and rather odd for him. But he knew. He knew someone was in the neighborhood. And someone who was… looking for him? The emanation was faint, but he could determine that much. Which beggared the question: if he could feel all of this even somewhat drugged and having no proper training in the Force (if he truly had the Force, something he’d rather not have. A chemical imbalance making him delusional and causing him all of the aches over the years would have been preferable), did this mean that whoever he was sensing… could he or she feel him in return? Could they tell exactly where he was? Jedi could do that, he was sure. Oh crap. It had better NOT be a Jedi. As fear crept into him, Jerrod turned around and looked down the other way. Using the duracrete wall to push himself to a start, he sloppily ran/staggered to escape what he imagined would be an unpleasant encounter. His bandmates would have to wait, and so would this stranger, whoever and where ever they actually were.

As he walked the Jedi Master maintained a light flow of the Force to employ his singularly greatest talent. As such most of the people that he passed saw little more than a shift in the shadows; those few that did see him looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and contempt. Of course, he could have hidden himself completely from all but the most talented Force users had he wanted to concentrate, but the walk was a long one and he had no intentions of arriving exhausted only to find some so-called Sith waiting on him.

He was nearing the apartment when it happened; a spike (if that really described it) in the aura’s awareness. He knew the other was there, and the other knew he was there. He stopped dead and increased his touch on the Force to ensure that his disguise held. With the illusion in place he took advantage of the freedom to look about for whomever it was that had felt him. Of course, he saw nothing out of the ordinary but he maintained caution as he began moving again, eyes closed, ears strained, and what ability remaining within him trained around himself for signs of the youth.

This person would probably stalk him down and make him pay, bring him to justice. And that was no less than Jerrod deserved, true, but he didn’t want to end up in jail. He interrupted his staggering pace ever so often to peer behind him, but other than the random assortment of passerby that normally flitted through the neighborhood, there was nothing he could spot of a possible assailant. As for the neighborhood itself, it would surely serve him well to have explored it somewhat in yesterday’s dazed and frantic escape from the apartment after his fit. Not that he had taken much of the sights in what with the state he had been in, but he reckoned he could still manage some sort of great escape.

Coruscant’s lower levels were a maze of durasteel and duracrete, old passageways mingling in with new ones, others blocked off or entirely forgotten about save for select few who knew of their real purposes. His route took him through one of those less frequented passages (hence why he had been so lost yesterday) and he had every intention of running back towards that greasy diner. He wouldn’t actually stop there (he’d be crazy to), but if he could lose this pursuer, then everything would be alright. At least he hoped. So long as he didn’t end up near the alley where the altercation had taken place: he probably couldn’t have stomached that. And so, his breathing fast and irregular, his heart pounding his chests, thoughts colliding through his head, he pressed on. So much for the possibility of a great career. He'd probably have to exile himself on some backwater planet in the Outer Rim. These overtly dramatic conjectures were of course by-products of an overzealous imagination mingled with slightly reduced faculties.

His feet still moved, seemingly of their own accord, though they moved slower now as Raztlain contemplated what to do. With the youth scared his aura shone like a clear beacon, Alies would have no trouble finding him now. He walked purposely, if slowly, following the youth further into the bowels of Coruscant; as they descended he allowed the Force to siphon off ever-so-slightly so that, though still shrouded he had more of a reserve left from which to draw.

But lack of proper regular cardio and muscle exercise meant that this chase was about to end sooner than he wanted it to. His fatigued right foot twisted slightly with this newest step and he sprained his ankle some. The speed he was fleeing at wasn’t all that great and so the damage wasn’t too bad. He felt he could continue and he did so, only to stumble again less than 10 seconds later, spraining his ankle further and this time careening around the corner of the nearest intersection only to stumble on the floor in a flurry of swears and curses.

Jerrod used the wall to put himself back up and tested his feet. Luckily, he was used to such minor ankle injuries that the damage was rather minimal despite the current throbbing of that. What with an ache on his left side and a slightly sprained ankle, he hobbled awkwardly about knowing that this game of cat and mouse would stop in the very, very near future.

Jedi master Raztlain Alies, while proficient with a saber, was no fighter. His skills lay along a different path that some would say was better than swordsmanship. In fact, Alies had won battles without ever having to lift a weapon using his technique. He had found that, with years of practice, he’d been able to project such strong illusions that most were completely dumbfounded. Once he’d even fooled Master Skywalker.

So it was that he began to project mirrors of himself closing in on the youth from every side. Every image mimicked his actions so that all of them walked casually and whistled softly. He held up a hand in the universal gesture of peace, and his mirrors did the same. He did not know if the youth would see them but this trick rarely failed. The problem with it was that it took a lot of concentration.

“Please,” he said softly, “I will not harm you.” He never broke stride, but he did slow even more.

Slowly, Jerrod inched a hand towards the butt of his blaster secured in the holster hanging on his side. His head was held high and still faced towards the man he had first noticed, yet his eyes darted from one stranger to another as they approached him, hands up in a sign of peace. He probably had no chance of actually extracting the pistol, but at least he’d try to if the need came for it.

Adrenaline was pumping in his system and it took every ounce of will power to dismiss the “flight or fight” instinct that wanted to kick in. If anything, he’d try to remain cool despite the possible danger. After all, he really didn’t want to add a second person to his killing count, especially if their motives truly were genuine and altruistic. Indeed, something in the stranger’s voice had seemed more reassuring than menacing. But anyone with enough acting capabilities could convince anyone of anything: especially if they were using some mind tricks. Which he was fairly sure this man was employing at the moment. Though there were a handful of them, he could only truly perceive one set of footsteps and some of them appeared as though they flickered and faded for fractions of seconds, almost as if he were able to discern their true existence (or in this case, lack of). Could this truly be an illusory trick? He didn’t know what to believe. He also wouldn’t try to think too much about it, his mind starting to hurt again.

And as he strained to compose himself, an inferno in his mind was set ablaze as the Force rippled from him in another uncontrolled burst, his vision obscured once more by flashing, pulsating lights. He gritted his teeth and his knees buckled as he sank some, still holding on the wall with one hand for support. The other had left the blaster’s butt and was clutching at his head. He let out a groan as he turned away from the men and cursed under his breath, somewhat maddened by this attack and show of weakness in front of strangers.
“Who are you? What… What do you want with me?...” he said on a weaker tone than he had expected to come out of his mouth. With duller looking eyes, he turned his head once again to look at his interlocutor.

"Jerrod. Jerrod Corbo" he answered, omitting to present a hand. It would have been the proper thing to do for introductions, he knew, but he couldn't care less at the moment about the decorum his parent had taught him. "And how can you help me?" he added with just a twinge more disbelief and arrogance than he had wanted to. He grimaced some at the sound of his voice and tried to give Alies a somewhat pitiful look in the hopes that the man would understand and possibly forgive any impertinence from Jerrod given his current state.