Snapshots Of a Fall [KOTOR II]
WARNING! If you haven't played KOTOR II, this probably won't make much sense to you. Plus, it contains SPOILERS.
A/N: This fic is meant to be a series of scenes chronicling Atton's fall to the Dark Side under the influence of the darksided female Exile. Each scene will be fairly short and disjointed from the others; hence the title, "Snapshots Of a Fall". New scenes will be added when the inspiration comes, and for as long as the inspiration lasts, until I must perforce bring the series to an end. (What can I say? I love writing DSAtton!) As always, constructive criticism is appreciated.
Citadel Station, Telos
Their fifth day on Citadel Station was the day he realized something was wrong.
Sure, she’d been an unpleasant character before then, tossing him dark looks, treating him and Kreia with a cold haughtiness. But that had been a little more understandable on Peragus, since he hadn’t been the most pleasant personality while fighting for his life, either.
All of that changed when she broke into that man’s apartment.
Atton stared, wondering what in Sith’s name she was doing, as she bent over the lock on the door. She stayed that way for a second, hands occupied, and with a flash of alarm Atton realized exactly what she was doing. Then the door opened. Stepping casually inside, she began to cast a critical eye over the items scattered on the furniture.
His voice went unnoticed. A white footlocker in the corner had drawn her attention, and she strode toward it, her purpose clear. It was then that Atton remembered he was standing exposed in the doorway. Shooting a look over his shoulder, he moved quickly inside, and the door slid shut behind him. Though he tried to swallow the lump in his throat, he couldn’t. He could only watch, feeling strangely guilty, as Alis Eristan crouched in front of the footlocker and reached for the lock.
The apartment owner’s most valuable possessions were in there. Maybe his only valuable possessions . . . .
It’s fine, Atton thought. This happens all the time on Nar Shaddaa. People steal and get stolen from. No need to get rattled.
Oh, yes, there was. This wasn’t Nar Shaddaa with its crime lords and nonexistent police force. The owner was going to come back, find his stuff missing, call security. And if Alis crossed Lieutenant Grenn one more time, they’d never get off this rock of a planet.
A few seconds later, Alis closed the lid of the locker and turned toward Atton with a stash of credits in one hand, a glass etching in the other. The glass etching was of a person, and Atton couldn’t help but wonder if it was of the owner’s relative or ancestor. Obviously it was important to him . . . or expensive.
“You sure about this?” Atton asked, trying to seem nonchalant. Alis pinned him down with a cold gaze. “We need the credits,” she stated matter-of-factly as she walked toward him.
At that instant, everything went terribly, terribly wrong.
With a hiss, the door behind Atton slid open, and a male voice cried out. Atton whirled around to see a red-headed man dressed in worker’s clothes, his face full of anger and shock. What happened next was a chaotic flood of images and noise and adrenalin. All Atton could remember later was how he found himself at the end of it: standing over the man’s body, breathing hard. Alis stood across from him with her vibroblade in her hands. It took Atton a moment to register that the slick, red substance dripping off her vibroblade was blood.
Then he saw that he, too, held his vibroblade, and that it, too, was slick and red. Looking down, he saw that the man had been stabbed once through the chest, and not only that, but slashed neatly across the torso. And Atton realized what he had just done.
Horror shot through him. He staggered backwards, dropping his vibroblade; its metallic clang echoed through the small apartment. Meanwhile, Alis toed the glass shards around the body, commenting on what a pity it was that she’d dropped the etching.
“I . . . I don’t know what came over me,” Atton said. “One second it was just you and me talking, and then—”
“It had to be done. He would have turned us in to the authorities.”
Atton was surprised by the intensity of his anger. “It had to be done? No, it didn’t have to be done, Alis! Force, we didn’t even have to be in here! What were you thinking?”
“I didn’t hear you complain.”
Her accusation was like a slap in the face, and he flinched, anger forgotten. She was right. He hadn’t tried to keep her from breaking in. He hadn’t really protested, either, not until after they’d killed the man. He had no right to say anything.
Wait. We killed the man, and I don’t remember it? What exactly happened, anyway?
The fact that he couldn’t answer that question disturbed him.
He looked at Alis, determined to confront her about it, only to stop and blink in surprise. Had her eyes always gleamed that way? Or was he just imagining their faint yellow glow in the room’s dim light?
She stared back at him for a moment, obviously amused, before her lips curled upward in a slow, chilling smile. It was then that he realized this beautiful ex-Jedi wasn’t just someone he’d fallen in with, or his free ticket off this rock. No. She was something far darker, and a screwed-up twist of fate had thrown him headlong into her path.
It was then, as he stared at her, that he felt the loss of what he loved most: his freedom.
Last edited by Emalin; 08-09-2008 at 04:31 PM.
Reason: Small revision RE: comments by readers
KOTOR II :joystick:
ROX MY SOX!!!
Re: Snapshots Of a Fall [KOTOR II]
^I always brake into those apartments....
Awesome work, Em!:rockon: I really like your idea of taking random chances-to-be-dark from the game and turning them into stories! There's certainly a whole lot of potential snapshots...