[color=steelblue][h2]Bocri Sauburc[/h2][/color]
[hr]

Bocri was washing his hands when he felt a sudden ripple in the Force. He had felt something similar before, when a fellow Jedi fell in battle, but this was worse, so much worse. The pain hit him like a charging Reek and his knees buckled; only by grabbing onto the countertop did he prevent himself from hitting the ground. It felt as though someone were jamming a thousand tiny needles into his brain.

His face in the mirror had gone ashen and he could see the pain he felt reflected back at him. His chest was moving quickly in great heaves as he sucked in air, trying to combat the pain. His metallic hand had bent the metal wash station and he could feel his blood pounding behind his eyes.  

It took several deep breaths to sooth him enough that he could stand; the pain diminished but fresh ripples in the force continued to batter at him. He had to clear his mind. He needed to get control. 

A half dozen more breaths as he sought to centre himself, forcing his mind to calm itself and focus on his surroundings. He had no control over whatever was happening but he could control how he reacted. He let go of the wash station and quickly dried his hands; an automatic movement while he sought some  normality. 

At last his breathing slowed, his chest no longer heaving as he sucked in air.  As he regained his senses his was aware of other sudden feelings - of crushing anxiety and suspicion - all around him; it appeared to be coming from the clones onboard this ship. That made no sense, there was no way they could have sensed what he did. There had been no klaxons, no warnings of an attack; no, something else was tweaking them. The comlink he carried buzzed eerily in his ear and attempts to click it into transmit were met with more static. Something was terribly wrong. 

[i]"Hirani?!”[/i] He reached out with the force and quickly found her. She too was in pain but at least she was alive. Relief flooded through him. He wanted to know what she had felt, to know if his worst fears might be true. 

Before he could say a word the refresher door slammed open an a half dozen concussion grenades spun inside. Without waiting to think, he reacted, his years of training kicking in without a second thought. A quick flick of the force sent all the grenades back out the door before they had even bounced a second time. He heard shouts of alarm and then a tremendous explosion shook the hanger bay. Heat and pressure washed into the refresher; he absorbed what he could and deflected the rest. 

The concussion was largely directed back into the bay by the walls and as he stepped into the open he blinked at the twenty  or so clone troopers whose bodies now lay scattered across the durasteel deck. Blood was thick on the shiny metal and he could see limbs, and bits of armour, scattered all over the place. At least one helmet was still bouncing crazily away. A stunned silence had fallen over the assembled troopers, most of whom staring at him in surprise as if frozen to the spot.   

A blaster bolt sizzled over his head and he spun to see another clone trooper, his leg broken, trying to take a second shot. Ozone sizzled and the blue blade of his lightsabre flashed to send the second bolt back into the troops chest. All around him he could feel suspicions, anger, and pain, much of it suddenly directed toward him as the three hundred or so troopers still in middle of loading their transports suddenly turned their attention toward him. 

He swore, drew his blaster, and began to run toward the hangers control room. All around him troopers reached for their own blasters.