I scan the corridor, taking in the chaotic scene as Retra moves like a whirlwind, slicing through zombies left and right. The kiss we shared earlier seems to have ignited something in her—she’s more focused, more energetic, and the lightsaber in her hand dances through the air with an almost deadly grace. Meanwhile, Teya, on the other hand, has become a bit more reserved, avoiding my gaze, clearly still processing everything that happened earlier.

  Currently, I'm surrounded by eight zombies speeding toward me. With my abilities, I can easily handle this number.

  Using my bearings and lightsaber, I kill them as quickly as they’re replaced. It takes all my multitasking skills, control, and weapons to stay on top of things. At times, I pin some zombies down with bearings, others I heat up and burn through. When more than a dozen rush at me, I use chain lightning between the bearings, stunning them. The process is intense and draining but sustainable.

  The remaining zombies, sensing me as the largest threat, lurch forward with hunger in their grotesque forms. I could easily handle them without drawing my weapon, but I need to stay sharp. The adrenaline keeps me focused, my senses heightened as I calculate every move in my head.

  Suddenly, I hear a screech, followed by a loud crash. A zombie bursts from a nearby locker, heading straight for Teya.

  “Watch out!” I yell, my voice sharper than I intended.

  Teya hesitates, her eyes briefly meeting mine. It’s clear she’s distracted by our earlier encounter, still trying to process it. She doesn’t react quickly enough, and the monster is almost on top of her.

  Before the zombie can reach her, Retra swings one of her metal forearms into its mouth, slamming it against the wall with an awful crunch. Without missing a beat, she drives her lightsaber blade through its skull, taking it out with a single, efficient motion.

  “Get over yourself and pay attention!” Retra shouts, her voice carrying an edge of frustration. “Is it that you don’t care enough, or are you just too caught up in your own head?”

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  Teya stumbles back, her face flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” she mutters, her voice small, a mix of shame and guilt evident in her tone.

  Retra steps forward, her voice firm but not without compassion. “I care about both of you. You shouldn’t have to be ashamed of caring,” she says, her passion coming through in her words.

  Her expression shifts slightly, a mixture of irritation and resolve. “But let’s not dwell on it. We’ve got more important things to focus on,” she adds, her tone hardening as she focuses on the task at hand.

  Teya doesn’t respond, her feelings unreadable.

  “I agree with Retra. Let’s not dwell on it much longer,” I say, shifting the focus. “Teya, do you want to head back to the ship?”

  “No, I’m fine. I’ll do better. I promise,” she assures me, determination in her voice.

  I nod and flick my Firefly saber with my mind, sending it straight through the last remaining zombie on the ground. Its body slumps, motionless.

  “Then let’s find out what happened here,” I say, turning toward the ship’s bridge.

  We head toward the bridge, killing more zombies along the way. I was worried Teya would be more flustered, but she was managing much better now, her resolve returning.

  When we reach the door, I see a keypad. Since I don’t have the password, I use the Force to unlock the mechanism. We find no zombies inside, which is a relief. I walk to the console and start looking through the video surveillance records.

  The videos mostly show zombies killing and breaking through barricades, but eventually, I find a recording with a familiar figure. It’s the Sith Lord who’s been chasing us.

  “A Sith Purebred!” Retra exclaims, shock in her voice.

  I turn to her. “You know them?”

  “Yeah, Korriban is their ancestral homeland, but you don’t see many of them around these days,” she recalls.

  I study the figure on screen—a red-skinned Sith with a tentacle-like chin. “That’s who’s been chasing us,” I say quietly, pointing at the screen.

  Both the girls look surprised, and Retra speaks up. “Then let’s watch it.”

  The video plays, showing a conversation between the Sith Lord and one of his subordinates.

  “My lord, this is getting far too dangerous,” the officer says, speaking urgently. “The virus is impossible to control. Surely the method your father, Lord Scourge, used to achieve immortality is safer?”

  The Sith Lord—Darth Ruinok—hisses, his red eyes narrowing. “Before I killed him, he refused to share his method with me. He believed the cost of all his emotions made him an abomination.”

  “…But Lord Ruinok, there must be another way to achieve immortality,” the officer suggests.

  “As of yet, the Black Wing virus and the Murakami orchids are the only lead I have. The ritual my father used is lost to time,” Darth Ruinok responds, his voice dripping with frustration.

  The video cuts off abruptly. I turn to the others. “So his name is Ruinok.”