Just like any other day, mesa strolled down da streets in mesa typical, carefree manner. Mesa had had some trouble acclimatin' to da city and its harsh inhabitants, but what was da point in bein' mad at dem? Deysa were most likely some kinda banished people (much like mesa) and were tryin' to make it big or in da very least scrape by. Mesa gangly 6'5 figure wiggled its way down da streets, ignorin' da shouts of anger and curses cast at mesa from various drivers mesa cut off, arms wavin' and ears flappin' to imaginary music as mesa moseyed down da street and hummed Gunganese tunes to mesa. Amidst mesa internal ravings, a gun cracked over mesa head and mesa ducked instinctively, takin' cover behind a car and bringen mesa to a low crouch. Mesa extended mesa eyestalks and peered through da car window. A richly clothed archangel had fired at and hit a rough-lookin' man in da chest, and he lay writhin' on da ground. She flicked her luscious red hair back and straightened da lapels of her green suit as one of her crew members dealt da coup de grâce to da rat and pilfered da body, producin' several small bags. Mesa ran away from da scene, undetected and undisturbed.

Mesa finally arrived at mesa headquarters and headed down to da basement. Uncle Joe had rooms for everyone, but mesa needed an area dat was damp, so mesa made mesa self comfortable near da boiler in da basement, laid down and closed mesa eyes for a moment.

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Dare was no sound, other dan da scrapin' of mesa leather boots on da rough obsidian of Mustafar and mesa occasional choked cry. Mesa was left hangin' for a moment before mesa was dropped into a loose pile, wheezin' and coughin'. Mesa head hurt. Mesa eyestalks hurt. Everyting hurt, but mesa had passed da Entrance tests and already performed da Sacrifice. Learnin' from none other dan Darth Revan demanded da most gruelin' discipline and sheer willingness to survive, and da Sith master made sure dat mesa felt every ounce of hate and rage bound in da Darkside. After another gruelin' session of self-suffocation, mesa exited da dark, tomb-like chamber.

Enterin' da dinin' hall was like eatin' in da home of mesa enemy. Other students were rivals, not acquaintances. All buckin' and fightin' for da chance to be acknowledged by one of da Sith masters, become an Apprentice and receive their Darth title and unholy christen. Mesa was a special case, or so Revan told mesa, because mesa had already completed da Sacrifice before mesa entered da Academy.

"You will soon grant us the means to overthrow our rival political faction," he told mesa. "This will ensure that our successors wield dominion over the galaxy and the Force. Your Sacrifice will be in the billions, so it is already paid in full."

Mesa didn’t know what to tink, but mesa understood his meaning; mesa would soon be da key towards empowerin' da Darkside in a way dat mesa couldn’t grasp, but dat wasn’t important. Mesa needed to learn, train, and become even stronger.

Later dat night, mesa was entered in a sparrin' match with several students and placed against dem, one on five. At da startin' horn, two of dem rushed mesa while da other three fanned out and slowly closed da distance. Mesa engaged da first two, quickly disablin' their light saber arms and followin' up with their other arms and den their legs. Wesa were only usin' trainin' sabers, so it would paralyze and numb their limbs for a short while and indicate their bein' disabled from combat. Da other three approached slowly, evenly. Deysa were still gaging mesa speed and awareness, but, try as dey might, dey could not surround mesa; mesa stacked dem like a deck of cards, keepin' dem all in sight and in one direction. Da girl in da front rushed mesa alone. Big mistake. She came forward with a wide, overt overhanded swing, which mesa easily sidestepped and countered with a body through-slash. Her body hit da ground by da time da other two rushed mesa, jumpin' in da air and swingin' their trainin' sabers like light sticks. Classic Form V. Mesa wonder where dey learned dat. Mesa moved back for a moment, watchin' not their sabers, but their feet. Dey both shifted their feet slightly forward and outwards (an obvious 2-point attack) and mesa advanced: mesa dashed between da both of dem, slicin' their leadin' legs and spun while slashin' da stomach of da left-hand attacker. Dat left only da right attacker, which mesa finished off with a Force Choke. Trainin' was concluded.

Revan summoned mesa to his office later. He told mesa dat while mesa did well as always, mesa only ever did well, and dat mesa would need to perform even better goin' forward. "Starting tomorrow," he told mesa, "you will be assigned a Sith master to spar. You will no longer fight the other students, as your skills have already far surpassed theirs." With dat, mesa was dismissed. Da pain in mesa body hurten like nuthin else.

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Mesa woke up to da sound of someone bangin' on da basement door. Mesa stretch mesa eyestalks and perk up as mesa hear William Butcher callin' out.

"Oi! Wesa headin' out to torch a rival's business. Yousa in or what? Get in or get lost!"

Mesa sighed heavily, suddenly feelin' quite down. Da pain came back in waves, washing over mesa

Mesa just want to rest.