The Republic has fallen.
In the final days of the Clone Wars, Chancellor Palpatine died under mysterious circumstances. With the Senate struggling to retain a sense of unity, it was the perfect time for the Separatists to strike. And strike they did...
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Lux had had his nose broken twice in his life before this. The first had been in his fourth year of schooling in a fight against a boy twice his size that his friends had pushed him into – something about teaching him to stand up for himself. (He still resented them for it, even if they no longer spoke.) The second had been when, of no fault of his own, he'd discovered that Saw's aim was no less precise and his punches no weaker when he was drunk and reminiscent.
But Recognition and familiarity did little to dull the pain, and Lux had no bandages to staunch the bleeding or bacta casts to set the ruined cartilage back into place. What he did have was a pounding head that was quite possibly concussed, a weapon in his hands, and just enough presence of mind to raise it before his commando droid sparring partner used the same opening he'd given it earlier and bashed his skull in.
Lux shifted his weight as much as he dared and kicked beneath their crossed metal quarterstaffs. As he'd expected, the impact of striking a solid metal chest plate made his whole body quake, but despite the worsening pain in his head and blood rapidly streaking down his chin, he held his ground long enough to get free.
Then, ignoring the angry yowls of his instructor, an ex-military man Lux had a feeling was kicked out of the Onderonian Army for starting too many fights with his comrades, he broke into a dead sprint away from the droid to the tall platforms here and there that would offer him higher ground.
He stumbled and pitched to one side, and the split-second flash of adrenaline and fear that rose to stop him from falling was enough to clear his head. He was quick to stamp them back down after that, even when two more commando droids hummed to life in their charging stations. Just as it was at the negotiating table, in the training arena Lux's anger and panic could only be allowed to exist while they served him, gave him focus.
He'd never fought alone at this level before. His father knew as well as he did that this module was meant as a paired exercise. Lux could already sense he was going to need half a day in the bacta tank when all was said and done, but what choice did he have but to do as he was bid? What choice had he ever had these past two years, trapped as he was like a convor in a golden cage?
Good. Anger brought drive, and drive sometimes gave his brain enough of a boost to scrape past failure into the lower reaches of mediocrity. Gods knew he had too little strength or skill at fighting to get there on his own.
Lux wiped his bloody nose on his sleeve, ignoring the hot spark of pain when the back of his hand nudged the dislodged cartilage even further out of place. The platform was just ahead. If he could just get on top of it–
A metal grabber closed around his shirt and yanked him backward; his staff flew from his hand. Too late, Lux remembered that despite their bulky metal exoskeletons, commando droids were much faster than he was even with a lead.
The commando droid tripped him on a well-placed limb before he could touch the solid carpet-over-duracrete platform before him. Lux fell gracelessly onto his back with a groan, but this time, he was sharp enough to see through the pain. Rolling the side in time to avoid the droid's downward jab, he braced himself on the floor and swung his legs sharply into the droid's.
