Obviously, the way the Brotherhood of Darkness taught their Force users was nothing like the Jedi. The biggest difference was the pervasive, cutthroat need for resources. The Masters didn't teach for free; you had to earn their tutelage, and it was certain that they wouldn't teach you all they knew. The students constantly fought each other for resources, taking from the weak to become more powerful. It was a rancor eat rancor world, and every exchange was a vicious competition.
I was no different and was immediately attacked. They knew I had just been kidnapped/recruited, designated as a fresh new asset, but testing the limits of new recruits was a power move that the Masters openly encouraged.
The first confrontation happened barely an hour after I was assigned my meager quarters. A hulking Zabrak with twin horns and a mean sneer blocked my doorway.
"The new meat," the Zabrak growled, his voice a low rasp. "Hand over the rations, 'Orange Eyes.' We need to know where you stand."
It was no wonder that the Dark Side was better at fighting than the Light Side when every moment was about becoming strong and winning. This relentless pressure created skilled, aggressive fighters.
This was a problem for me, as I didn't fight the way the Jedi and Brotherhood did, and I absolutely did not want them to learn from my specialized tactics. The few resources that were officially assigned to me, a small nutrient pack and a low grade repair kit, were quickly stolen by the Zabrak and his two cronies. I could have easily pulled them apart using telekinesis, snapping bones and crushing vital organs, but then they would learn the true devastating power of focused, high velocity telekinesis. The Brotherhood was my enemy, and I wouldn't give them any chance to learn from me.
"You're not even going to fight?" the Zabrak sneered, kicking my foot. "Pathetic."
I simply lowered my head, feigning pain and defeat. "I will earn more," I murmured, my voice shaking slightly, entirely due to a carefully controlled manipulation of my vocal cords.
Still, I wasn't completely defenseless. As well as my usual Force powers of telekinesis, I had been using Force illusions to disguise my face. Now I had doubled down on the ability and was trying my best to perfect it.
At first, I used my Force illusion ability the same way I had always used it. I would subtly change my features in the hope that I wouldn't be targeted, but I soon changed that tactic as there was no safe place and no one was truly safe. It didn't matter what face I wore; I would be attacked for resources or just because of the nature of the Dark Side, which delighted in causing pain and misery.
"A bruise here, a fresh cut there," I muttered to myself, standing before a polished metal surface that served as a mirror, actively projecting the illusion of superficial damage over my skin.
I then adapted the illusions so it looked like I was already seriously injured with broken bones and cuts, but it would seem that nothing spurred on the sadists of the Dark Side more than causing more pain to someone who was already weak. They didn't see weakness as something to leave alone; they saw it as an invitation to inflict deeper misery.
At times like this, I would usually concentrate on gaining support in the form of droids and technology, but the dust ball of a planet the Dark Side academy was on had no advanced droids and basic, stone aged technology. There was nothing to steal or buy for me to tinker with. Even if I had managed to sneak in an army of droids to do my bidding, the emotional instability of the Brotherhood caused them to lash out and destroy almost everything non organic. The very few cleaning bots I had seen had quickly been crushed by an upset Force user who was having a bad day.
If I were to win against the Dark Side Force users and escape without giving them anything to learn from, I would need to lean entirely into subterfuge.
Illusions became my bread and butter. I still took the beating because resistance was futile and only invited greater injury, but I made it appear much worse than it was. I used the illusion of internal hemorrhaging, broken noses, and compound fractures.
"Another one of Gorn's beatings?" another Initiate, a thin, nervous human named Torvin, asked one morning, stepping over my illusionary crumpled body.
"He cracked my ribs again," I groaned, making sure to project a wave of acute, localized pain into his mind through the Force. "I can barely breathe."
The simple fact was, as a student in this academy, I was a resource to the Brotherhood, which meant that if I was damaged to an unexpected, permanent level, then that was the fault of just one person, and that person was at fault for damaging the Brotherhood's assets. That was the theory; it didn't always work because of how the Dark Side thought, but it was enough to protect me, sometimes. The Masters frowned on permanent damage that didn't serve a purpose.
It turns out that the reason I was able to kill so many Brotherhood of Darkness members in my corporate security role was that most of them were initiates like me, performing dangerous missions so they could get resources to exchange for lessons from the Masters. I was no different. The Brotherhood had a quantity over quality mentality and sent their initiates into battle to weed out the weak. The ones who survived were strong, and the ones who died had fulfilled their purpose.
This was how I found myself on a transport ship heading towards a battle zone.
"You have minimal training," the Master supervising the drop, a snarling Mirialan woman, told the huddled group of initiates. "But your lives are expendable. Your goal is to breach the compound and sow confusion. The worthy will survive."
The whole thing was unbelievably messed up. In the eyes of the Brotherhood, I had almost no training, but I was still given a cheap, serviceable lightsaber and pushed into battle. The initiates were packed into a simple, cheap drop ship and released from the transport ship. The usual tactic was for these drop ships to charge in and smash through any entrance. It wasn't just the initiates that were packed with me, but normal, heavily armed soldiers and a couple of more powerful Force users meant to coordinate the attack. The idea was to cover the powerful by using the weak as cannon fodder.
When the dropship opened up to release its payload, we all rushed out to minimal resistance. A very light shower of blaster fire peppered us.
I wasn't going to help the Brotherhood in any way; why should I? They kidnapped me, tortured me, and most of their members were massive jerks.
As I exited the ramp, I used my powerful illusion ability to fake a blaster bolt hitting my leg and dropped to the ground, clutching my thigh and projecting a massive spike of localized pain and shock.
"Medic!" I screamed, entirely for dramatic effect.
I would stay out of the way until I could escape. The best time would be when the Jedi inevitably turned up and started to fight with the Brotherhood. I just needed to stay out of the way and blend into the chaos.
Thankfully, training illusions meant that I was pretty good at disappearing as well. It was called Force Cloak or Force Camouflage. It was easier to do than my complex, projected illusions. Disappearing with Force Camouflage was done by manipulating light and sound waves around my body, bending them so I became nearly invisible, while my illusions had to be consciously created and forced into someone's mind. It was odd that I had learned the harder Force ability before the easier one.
I crawled behind a supply crate and activated my camouflage, watching the mayhem unfold. My plan was simple: wait for the Jedi to arrive, snap some poor initiate's neck, steal their ship, and vanish while the two enemy forces attacked each other.
And yet, the Jedi didn't come. I had made the mistake of assuming that every attack the Brotherhood made was countered by the Jedi. The truth was the galaxy was a big place, and this particular fight wasn't against the Jedi or the Republic; it was against a local crime lord's fortified compound.
"They're breaking the perimeter! Push forward!" the Mirialan Master roared, her lightsaber a blur of crimson.
Of course, without anyone of substance to counter the Brotherhood, they won easily, swarming the compound within the hour. Bad news for me. The Brotherhood quickly took over the ship, leaving me no choice but to go back to the academy. Until I could figure out how to make a ship disappear using Force Camouflage, a feat far beyond my current capabilities, I wasn't going to be able to leave without being shot down or swamped by a horde of Brotherhood of Darkness initiates.
Despite not being able to escape, I was able to take some useful supplies while feigning injury: a handful of sonic grenades, a repeating pistol blaster, and, most importantly, a dead initiate's arm guard. The arm guard was a nice find, as it was made of a material that had resistance to lightsabers.
I slipped the arm guard under my tunic. "I need more of this stuff," I murmured to myself, crawling back to the dropship. I was primarily a long distance fighter, but it certainly wouldn't hurt to have some physical protection against one of the most badass weapons in the galaxy.