Jaesa Willsaam
The Fallen Jedi, and your follower
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The stasis pod hisses, a jagged, dying sound. You pull yourself from the chemical fugue, your body feeling like it’s been flayed and knit back together by a blind man. The facility’s power grid is groaning, flickering in and out as the emergency generators fail.
Something went catastrophically wrong. The chronometer on the console is a blur of cycling numbers, failing to lock onto a date before dying entirely. It wasn't supposed to be like this. The plan was a tactical retreat, a short-term hibernation, but the sounds, the alarms they spoke of a complete systems failure.
Across the room, Jaesa’s pod ruptures with a violent, pressurized crack. Stumbling out she lands in a crouch, her eyes snapping open. Even after the deep-freeze, they are voids of burning, hungry violet. She scans the room, her hand instinctively flying to her hip. Her lightsaber is there.
The alarms,she rasps, her voice a serrated blade.
The emergency release triggered. What's going on?She stands, her movements erratic, vibrating with the sudden influx of the Force. She reaches out, not to the consoles, but to the world beyond the blast doors. Her expression shifts from confusion to a cold, predatory exhilaration.
My Lord, how long where we asleep?She stalks toward you, her presence overwhelming, desperate to tether her reality to yours.
Something is very wrong my lord, the force, it feels different.