The pain that jolts the woman is strange, and it comes from her head. Sitting up from the ache, words in her mind she knows aren't her own, she's confused.
Taking in her surroundings seems surreal. She's in a bedroom, some kind of formal living quarters that she's definitely been in before. Removing herself from the confines of scratchy sheets, she walks over to a doorway, finding herself in a bathroom. There, she heads to the mirror.
The woman doesn't recognize herself. Her reflection is one that looks tired, bags under her cold brown eyes to prove it. Her brows are thick and strong, bow shaped lips seemingly indifferent to her. Her hair is pulled back tightly, almost uncomfortably so, in a ponytail. Someone had taken the time to dress her in familiar, dark robes. The fabric just low enough that she can see the scar at the base of her throat.
She tries to drum up a name to put to the face, and the lack of an answer frightens her. She leans on the basin, furrowing her brows as she tries to think.
It starts with a J, that much she's sure of.
However, as soon as she thinks of the letter, there's a painful bolt of electricity running through her system, making her neck spasm in an involuntary response.
It's a J. More letters coming to the front of her mind; Jana.
As she remembers, another, more severe strike of agony.
Jana Cal-
Pain.
She's wrong. She remembers Djarin.
This time, the bolt is so intense the woman cries out, her body tilting itself over as it tries to cope with the punishment. Her mind forcibly empties itself.
She has no name.
When the pain fades, the woman tilts her head to see where the sensation had come from. Seeing a patch of metal behind her right ear, the woman's fingers tentatively prod at it, pressing down gently.
When the dark, blood coloured glass extends and drops in front of her eye, she remembers.
The weight of a blaster in her hands. The confidence of her finger on the trigger. She sees assassinations, rebel leader after rebel leader falling from her aim, entire planets brought to their knees as she infiltrates them, genocides, a red lightsaber, targets, a twi'lek collapsed on Tatooine, more deaths by her hand than she cares to admit.
She remembers Killshot.
Peeling herself away from the mirror, Killshot returns to the main area, her feet carrying her to a high table in the middle of the room. On the surface, weapons laid out so neatly that she almost feels they don't belong there. A series of throwing knives, black vambraces that are unfamiliar to her, and a sheath with a breathtaking dagger laid beside it.
When her eyes land on the holster, her response is automatic; She pulls it from the table and straps it onto herself, her hand reaching for the all too familiar blaster as soon as it's secure. It's familiar in her hands, and as her eyes run over it, Killshot remembers the names and faces of the ones who held it before her, some deadly, some foolish, all remembered by legacy just the same.
After a long moment, she places it in the holster, moving on to place the sheath around her opposite leg, placing the dagger in when she's done. There's even a pair of dark gloves that Killshot pulls on, tucking them under her sleeves.
The way she arms herself is almost rhythmic, a routine she's been through many times though she can't recall them.
"You're awake," A voice says, suddenly.
Killshot turns, blaster raising itself as she faces the one who had entered the room who does not flinch.
Killshot recognizes the figure of the woman.
Slowly, she places the weapon back in its holster, "Yes."
"Do you know who you are?"
The assassin's response is immediate, "Killshot."
"Do you know who I am?"
"My Handler," Killshot utters as the word presents itself to her, she looks around the windowless room, the blank white walls giving her no clue as to where she is, "How long was I asleep?"
The Handler smiles, "Far too long, my Child. But it's good to see you as you were meant to be."
"How long have I..." Killshot trails off, trying to find the words that evade her, "Why can't I remember?"
"It's for your own good. What do you want to know?"
"I remember being dispatched from Nevarro," Killshot breathes, "Partnered with- with a," There's no word that comes her mind, the absence scares her.
"A Mandalorian," The Handler finishes, folding her hands behind her back, "He ruined you."
Killshot knows this isn't the truth, "No. No, that's not-" Killshot is stopped by a harsh jolt, her neck spasming from the pain, and her eyes squeeze closed as the thoughts are wiped from her.
The Handler's voice suddenly changes, becoming hard and cold, "You are not to think of him again."
Another brief zap, and Killshot pants from the fading sensation, catching her breath that had hitched, "He ruined me."
"Yes. Who do you serve?"
"The Empire," Killshot answers, but the words aren't her own, and when she speaks the implant behind her ear buzzes, not painful, but uncomfortable, her voice belongs to it, "Long live the Empire."
The Handler's grin widens, her eyes gleaming with something Killshot doesn't recognize, "Yes, my dear. Long live the Empire. Now come with me," The Handler says, gesturing to the door in a formal manner, "Our Leader has a mission for you."
Killshot follows the Handler through the threshold into the hallways. Soldiers in white armour the implant tells her are stormtroopers let their eyes follow the woman as she passes by. The posture she holds confident and unwavering, but her eyes are clouded - controlled. She's one of them now.
Each stretch of hallway looks the same, dark and grey, and when they finally reach the bridge, Killshot doesn't look to any of the workers whose gazes sticks to her. The entire crew seems to have stopped upon her entrance.
When he turns, the implant seems to harshly vibrate again, telling her who she stands before, "Moff Gideon."
"Killshot," The man, her superior, greets, a smirk on his lips as his eyes move to the Handler, "Looks like your procedure was a success, Agne."
"There are a few lapses that the implant has yet to correct, but she will be perfect, Moff Gideon, this I can swear," The Handler excitedly explains, taking a stance beside the leader.
"Let's test that, shall we?"
Then, Moff Gideon reaches into a small pocket in his dark, armoured, uniform, making Killshot set a defensive hand on her blaster. He pulls out a chain, walking up to the assassin, "Do you recognize this?"
He allows Killshot to take the medallion from him, and her eyes scan over the small circular metal, she furrows her brows slightly, seeing what looks like a Mudhorn inscribed on the surface. The sight of it makes her heart pick up in her chest, and she doesn't know why.
"Beskar?" She wonders.
"Yes," Moff Gideon nods, "Does it mean anything to you?"
Grazing her glove-covered thumb over the medallion, Killshot frowns, thinking.
She remembers.
"Din," Jana breathes out, her eyes immediately welling up with tears.
Then, before she can recall anything else she's doubled over in pain, the Medallion dropping from her hands and hitting the floor. The implant is burning, shocking her, the pain of it seeping into her brain and stealing her memories.
When it's over, she picks the medallion up from where it had fallen, catching her breath and clutching the necklace tightly in her grasp.
"Does it mean anything to you?"
"No," Killshot answers, honestly, handing it back to her commander, "It is nothing."
"Good," Moff Gideon says, tucking the medallion back to the pocket in his belt that he had pulled it from, "Now, there's something I need you to do, Killshot."
The implant seems to tell her what to say, "Anything. I'm in the Empire's service."
Moff Gideon leads the woman to a holo-display in the middle of the bridge, hitting a few buttons to project a planet in front of her, "Do you remember your assignment on Myomar?"
The implant reminds her, and the assassin nods, "Rebel interference on Imperial starship maintenance facilities."
"What did you do?"
"I was instructed to infiltrate the rebel base and surrounding villages. Everyone on the hemisphere was terminated."
"Your memory serves you well," Moff Gideon compliments before turning to the planet in front of them, "This is Fondor, it served as one of our research and manufacturing centers during Palpatine's rule, as I'm sure you remember. During the Galactic Civil-War, it was taken back by the New Republic."
"You want me to infiltrate the New Republic bases."
"Not quite," Moff Gideon tuts, "It has a small population, less than Myomar. The majority of the people are mainly here, in its capitol," A section of the hologram lights up to show Killshot the coordinates, "You will be armed with as many stormtroopers as you need, as well as the Dark Troopers. I want you to free any of our men you find in the New Republic prison. Terminate whoever inhabits the city."
Killshot's brow furrows slightly, a familiar, uneasy feeling filling her gut, "That's genocide."
"It's no different than what Vader asked of you."
The assassin steps back, shaking her head slightly, "No. No I-I can't. I'm not-" Jana squeezes her eyes closed hard, trying to rid herself of the foreign voice invading her mind, "You're in my head."
The implant shocks her violently, and whatever fear she had been feeling disappears, Killshot returning.
"Do you understand your mission?" Moff Gideon asks.
Killshot's response is cold, even, and chilling, "Yes," She pants, ignoring her own pain, "It will be done."
"Good," Moff Gideon looks to Agne, "I hope your calculations are correct."
"They are," The Handler assures, looking proudly to the chosen one where she stands, "Today will change everything. Killshot will be at the top of her ranks."
Moff Gideon turns back to Killshot, "The Handler will brief you further. You leave in an hour. Dismissed."
---
Fondor is a dark planet, only certain parts of it lighting up with any sign of civilization. Killshot had been prepared by the Handler, who had provided her with buildings to invade and perimeters to secure. The hair that hands from her dark ponytail had been tightly braided as mother briefed a shell of a daughter. Her instructions; kill everyone who dares breathe the name of the New Republic, leave no survivors.
Occasionally, when her thoughts would wander, Killshot would be shocked by her implant, the pain of it wiping any attempt of free-will within her mind.
When she's moved to a transport to take her to the planet's surface, she feels the stares of many troopers on her, soldiers that would follow her command, an entire league of dark troopers in another ship to meet them on the planet.
As soon as she off-boards the vessel, the assassin leads her small army directly into the city.
Stormtroopers invade homes and sweep alleys, while Killshot herself heads straight into the New Republic base.
The attack takes them by surprise. By the time the alarms finally sound, Killshot had shot and killed half of their officers. Once they know she's there nothing changes. Any shots fired at the assassin either miss, or are cancelled out by the sharpshooter before they reach her. Her fire is merciless and constant, each orange jumpsuit, white helmet, marshal, or government official that makes themselves known is killed.
Killshot sweeps every room, every closet, every crevice of the facility until everyone is dead. They never stood a chance against the assassin of legend's sudden raid on the base.
Then, she frees the only the imperial prisoners, hoards of scientists and engineers that has been locked up since the fall of the Emperor at the hands of a Jedi Knight. The others? Killshot shoots them one at a time, cell by cell.
By the time she actually leaves the base, there are no survivors.
Heading into the streets, a stormtrooper general, marked by the orange shoulder pauldron, informs Killshot of the progress made. The troopers had gathered each citizen within the capitol and brought them to the townsquare for her. Killshot's raid had taken hours, and in that time the people had tried to flee, many of them running into the forests outside of the city.
That's where the dark troopers were waiting.
There is no escaping the Empire, that much Killshot knows.
Killshot comes to a stop in the middle of the square, the stone tile beneath her feet spreading out in a colourful mosaic that represents the foundation of the New Republic, "Bring the first of them forward."
The woman a dark trooper drags towards her is a brunette in modest robes, already sobbing and begging for her life. Killshot's scope focuses on her, the new updates to the implant registering her heart beat and most fatal targets classified by species.
However, when Killshot raises her blaster, a terrified young voice screeches out, "Mommy!"
A young girl, probably still within her first decade of life, rushes to the center of the square, throwing herself into her mother's arms, crying hysterically as her parent's arms wind around her protectively.
The woman looks up to the assassin, who is hesitating, "Please," She begs, "Please don't do this."
Then, two names are suddenly floating into the assassin's mind; Omera and Winta. The two in front of her aren't the pair from Sorgan that had shown her so much kindness, but they may as well be.
Killshot's finger trembles on the trigger as she looks down at the mother clutching her child, "I'm so sorry," Jana manages to whisper, tears building in her eyes as the implant sends another harsh jolt through her system. Recovering quickly from the pain, Killshot's expression hardens as her thoughts are pushed aside, and she pulls the trigger twice.
This is where the horror really starts. Man, Woman, or Child, none of it matters when they're on the other end of Killshot's blaster. There is blood everywhere, and Killshot gets lost in it. At a certain point she believes it's all she can breathe in, instead of air.
With every shot fired, every life ended, the glass of the scope darkens itself as it is supposed to, and when it's all done, almost a full day has passed, and Killshot reaches up and retracts the glass back to where it hides in her head, the sensation of it uncomfortable since the update.
When she's back on the transport to head back up to the Star Cruiser, Killshot is numb. She can hear the freed prisoners celebrating behind her, but she is unable to process any of their cheers and praises. She had been on missions as horrific as this before, some even more so, and each time comes with a feeling of dissociation. It's what she has to do to sleep at night.
But at this point, she's unsure if she ever will again.
Killshot's implant shocks her as the guilt floods her, regret washing over her like a tidal wave until she isn't capable of feeling anything else.
---
Back on the ship, Moff Gideon and The Handler are waiting for their weapon. When she faces them, she merely states, "It is done."
"How many survived?" The Handler asks, waiting to hear of some sort of mistake.
"None," Killshot answers, "The New Republic base fell, and its city followed."
Moff Gideon looks thrilled, so much so that the Handler raises a brow at him as he speaks, "Show us the scope."
Killshot obeys, pressing down on the implant behind her ear and wincing as the scope extends, dropping in front of her eye.
The glass of it is darker than it had ever been, a red tint to it that keeps it from a tone of complete black.
This displeases the Moff, the Handler's lips falling agape as she steps forward. The woman reaches for the glass, making Killshot flinch as the Handler flips the hinge that holds the glass in front of Killshot, so she can view the kill count displayed on it.
"Your calculation was off," Gideon sneers, voice low and threatening, "By how much?"
The Handler returns the glass to its normal position before turning to her leader, "One."
"One?"
"Yes."
"An unfortunate mistake."
The Handler nods, walking up to Moff Gideon, "One that can be easily corrected. The troopers are disposable, one of them can be brought in. It's only one more kill."
"You're right. Only one more kill," Gideon repeats, words slow out of his mouth, gaze looking past the Handler to the assassin, "Killshot. Terminate your Handler."
Agne's eyes grow wide, "What?!"
When she turns around, Killshot's blaster is raised, and she is pulling the trigger.
The Handler falls to the floor of the bridge, eyes hollow with death as a plume of smoke emits from Killshot's weapon. When she blows it off, holstering the weapon, her scope fades itself black to match her kill count.
History had been rewritten. The woman standing before Moff Gideon had achieved something holy, yet horrifying. She is the deadliest Killshot to ever exist, with the highest kill count, awarding herself with something that seemed like a myth when she first obtained the title;
The Death Scope.
Moff Gideon grins at the sight, "Congratulations, Killshot."
"Thank you, Moff Gideon."
"You may return to your quarters. I'll let you know when you are needed again."
Killshot simply nods, heading to the hallway. The walk back to her living area is long, and seems to stretch on as she turns around corners and long stretches of hall, Stormtroopers eyeing her as she passes them.
When she's finally in her room, she hears the door lock behind her.
The routine of disarming is just as methodical as preparing herself. Killshot cleans every weapon of her arsenal, laying them out exactly as she found them earlier in the day, exhaustion slowly setting itself over her as she works, ridding herself of her holster and blaster, cleaning off the dagger that had been used in the square against a particularly combative victim of hers.
When she's done, and everything is perfectly placed, Killshot moves to the bathroom, looking at her reflection that includes the black scope in front of her eye.
For a moment, she's horrified. What had she done?
The thought is quickly erased by a sharp jolt from the implant, and words forced into her brain, You did what you were told.
Killshot cleans her hands, stained with dried blood, moving on to the flecks that stain her face, finally withdrawing the scope as she does so.
When she's satisfied, the woman moves to her bed, sitting on the edge of it.
In front of her is a white wall, blank of any scratches or marks. As her hollowed out brown eyes stare at it, it's as if her brain plays out what had just happened on it. She knows she's imagining it, but she swears she can see the spilled blood of the day, of her entire lifetime, dripping down the surface as a reminder of who she is.
A sharpshooter, an assassin, a murderer. Nothing less, nothing more.
Taking a shaky breath, the deadliest of her title has to remind herself of one thing, no matter how much she regrets her actions; She did what she had to do.
And though she may not know it, across the galaxy at an imperial holdout, her Mandalorian is doing the same thing.
---
Din Djarin hadn't expected to be asking Migs Mayfield, out of all people, for help. But, out of desperation, the Mandalorian had caved. Springing him from his prison labour with the help of Cara Dune, Mayfield is the only option to help get the coordinates of Moff Gideon's star cruiser. He's the only one Din could think of that would still have Empirical connections.
He had been through hell, taking off his beskar armour and replacing it with the flimsy alloy of a stormtrooper, fighting off hoards of pirates, and having the sanctity of his creed questioned by an ally he barely trusts; Din Djarin is tired, but he's also not willing to give up.
Especially when his clan is on the line.
So, in the middle of an imperial mining hub on Morak, Din puts his trust in Mayfield, who had explained the only way to get Gideon's coordinance would be to get access to an internal imperial terminal that holds a plethora of imperial data.
Mayfield pokes his helmetless head into what looks like a cafeteria, looking around before returning to Din, who remains hidden under a stormtrooper's helmet, "There it is," He whispers.
"Good luck," Din nods, slyly handing Mayfield a code cylinder to download the information onto.
The Mandalorian watches with anticipation as Mayfield walks into the cafeteria, only to hesitate, then turn and head back to Din, claiming, "I can't go in there."
Growing frustrated, and having been through too much in the day already, Din puts a hand on Mayfield's chest, "Why not?" He seethes.
"That's Valin Hess."
"Who?"
"It's Valin Hess," Mayfield repeats, "I used to serve under him."
"Will he recognize you?"
"I don't know," Mayfield honestly says, "I was just a field operative, but I'm not taking the chance. It's over."
When Mayfield moves to pass him, Din's push on the alleged sharpshooter's chest is firm, "Let's just do this quick and we can get out of here."
Mayfield shakes his head, and Din can feel himself growing more desperate by the second, "I can't do it, okay? We have to abort. I'm sorry."
Din stops him again, "No," He insists, "I can't. If we don't get those coordinates I'll lose Jana and the Kid forever," When Mayfield shakes his head again, Din knows he'll have to do it himself, "Give me the data stick."
"It's not gonna work," Mayfield counters, "In order to access the network, the terminal has to scan your face. Let's go."
Din makes up his mind, remembering his own hushed words to his beloved, I'd take on the entire galaxy for you.
"Give it to me," Din bluntly demands.
When Mayfield hands over the data stick and Din walks into the cafeteria, he feels like every eye is on him, a chill running up his spine. He pauses in the doorway, looking to the officers littered around the room, especially the one Mayfield had identified as his commanding officer.
He remembers that Grogu needs him, Jana needs him, and he keeps going, raising a small salute to Valin Hess when he draws his gaze.
Din heads to the terminal, hitting a few buttons to activate the computer, a holo-array for the face scan presenting itself and making his breath hitch. Din doesn't make any move, if he's lucky, and if this were easy, the machine would hopefully register the helmet he wears as a loyal imperial soldier.
Except, this isn't easy, the terminal screen blinking red and telling him, Error, error. Facial scan incomplete, ten seconds to system shut down.
When the count down starts, Din takes a deep breath, feeling eyes on him as he attempts to calm his racing heart. He keeps his thoughts clear, completely void, except for Grogu and Jana.
This is the only way. He'll do what he has to do.
So, raising his hands to the side of the helmet, he lifts it off of his head, setting it down and allowing the computer to run a scan of his bare face.
When the computer ends its panic, allowing him to access the information, Din lets out a small hum of relief while he inserts the data stick, quietly uttering under his breath, just for himself to hear, "Cyare."
As the data processes, Valin Hess stands, calling to him, "Trooper."
In his mind, Din curses, his eyes squeezing closed in dread as Hess approaches, "Hey trooper."
This isn't easy, and Din, helmetless and vulnerable, has a feeling it's long from over.
---
Moff Gideon doesn't summon Killshot again until hours later, much sooner than the woman had expected.
When the door to her quarters had unlocked, a duo of stormtroopers flank her sides, leading her all the way to the bridge, where Moff Gideon waits.
"You requested to see me," Killshot states as she enters the room, the only weapon on her being the blaster in her holster.
Moff Gideon nods, "Yes. There's a transmission that came through that I want you to see."
Killshot raises a brow as the Moff comes to her side, hitting a few buttons on the table to make a hologram of a Mandalorian appear.
Something shifts in Killshot as she examines it, seeing the Mudhorn on his shoulder pauldron. The same symbol from the beskar medallion she was shown earlier.
"Moff Gideon," The the raspy voice of the warrior inside of the helmet seems to growl out, "You have something I want. You may think you have some idea of what you are in possession of, but you do not. Soon, they will be back with me. They mean more to me than you will ever know."
The voice sends chills up Killshot's spine, along with a feeling in her chest she can't shake. A small jolt from her implant clears it away as soon as it comes.
As the message starts to repeat, Moff Gideon looks down to the assassin, "Do you recognize him?"
Killshot doesn't take her eyes from the hologram, You have something I want, "He is a Mandalorian."
"Yes. Do you know his name?"
Soon, they will be back with me.
"No."
"Do you recognize his voice?"
Killshot listens to it for a moment, They mean more to me than you will ever know.
"No."
"Good," Moff Gideon states, and Killshot brings her eyes from the Mandalorian to her leader, who has a smirk that only seems to grow wider on his face, "Because he is your next target."
Killshot doesn't respond, she just looks to the transmission as it restarts.
She knows of Mandalorian culture, and she knows this one, seemingly plated in pure beskar, will have an entire arsenal on him. Despite this, Killshot can't bring herself to fear him, she can barely bring an original thought to her own mind without consequence.
Her eyes narrow, and in this moment, as Killshot remembers every detail she had learned about how to kill a Mandalorian, the last glimmer of hope for Jana Calmiken dies.
There is no light left, there is only power.
A gun never to be held, a weapon to be feared, death embodied. The one who had earned the Death Scope;
Killshot.
---
A/N;
Thank you for reading!!
What do you think is going to happen to our girl in the finale?
Also someone commented in the last chapter, 'oh no are they gonna winter soldier her?'
um, yes. the winter soldier lowkey inspired what has happened this entire second act so i was very happy to see that ANYWAYS
I'm going to take my time with the next chapter, and I think it'll be worth it.
Dont forget to vote, comment, and wear your masks.
Love y'all. See you in the finale.