His eyelids opened slowly, the scene in front of him slowly coming into focus. Raziel silently cursed himself for falling into a deep sleep so far behind enemy lines. Maintaining such a strong connection to the Force, allowing him to move safely through the city, had taken its toll.

There was a soldier at the top of the stairwell, his carbine fixed fixed firmly on Raziel. In one very slow motion Raziel pulled his hands out from under the covers. He held them out wide, palms towards the soldier. From the attire the soldier was wearing, Raziel guessed he was a scout. There was every chance he would have been looking for the same thing as Raziel: a structure with enough shelter from the elements to catch a few hours of sleep.

The scout waved his rifle up and down, indicating that Raziel should stand. Very slowly he pushed the blanket down and got to his feet. Hoping that the “local homeless civilian” routine would work again, Raziel said a few words in the local dialect. The adrenaline started to pump through Raziel’s veins, the fog that had hampered his thoughts was almost immediately clear.

The scout responded in turn, jabbering off a few sentences. Raziel held back a grimace as he tried to put together what had just been said. His intensive two weeks course on the local languages had been enough to convince an off-worlder. It still wasn’t enough to converse fluently with a local, but he was surprised how difficult it was to understand this scout. After a moment he realised that the scout just had a thick regional accent. The soldier was probably from a different continent. The scout was fairly old, tired wrinkles surrounded his eyes. He held his weapon firmly, and with confidence. A veteran then, and not a conscript, raziel thought. He was in trouble here.

Managing to discern some of the commands being issued to him, Raziel raised his hands over his head. His mind raced as he considered his options. Before settling down for the night he had explored the building. He knew that if he could make the window to his left that he could jump to a ladder on the far side of the street. There was also an opening into an attic to his right, that he had placed a table underneath before going to sleep. Neither of these options could help him when someone had a blaster trained on him from two metres. He tried to hold back his frustration again, falling into such a deep sleep had been foolish.

“Calm down,” Raziel said. He projected the emotion through the Force towards his opponent. “I’m unarmed,” he continued. A micro expression passed across the scout’s face for an instant, but it was enough to let Raziel know that he was having an effect. Raziel risked a step forwards, and was relieved that he wasn’t gunned down.

The scout spoke a few more words. Again, Raziel missed what had been said, though the inflection meant he had been asked a question. Now that he was fully alert he was able to sense what the scout wanted to know.

“I was just looking for a place to . . . go to sleep,” Raziel replied. It took him a moment to remember the correct way to pronounce the final word for the context of the sentence. He risked another step forwards. “I just have my belongings. No weapon.” He risked lowering his hands and indicating the large bag crumpled in the corner of the room. He needed his hands out in front, and to be just another step closer.

The scout lowered his weapon slightly, but Raziel knew he was losing his mental hold on the man. Raziel took two quick steps forwards. The scout tried to raise his weapon again, but it was too late. Raziel’s right hand clasped the barrell and kept it pointing down. In Raziel’s opinion the elbow was much underused as a weapon. Far harder and sharper than the first, he knew that if you could get close enough it was far more effective.

His left elbow connected solidly with the side of the scout’s head, sending him reeling. The scout realised that as he had stepped backwards Raziel had kept a hold of the weapon. Raziel tossed the weapon aside and closed again on the scout. He had never subscribed to any martial arts, and as short and slender as he was close combat could never have been a speciality. What Raziel had was years of experience in back alley brawls and on the battlefield. He knew how and where to hit someone to put them down quickly.
The scout threw a punch at his chest, but Raziel rolled his shoulder taking the sting out of the blow. Raziel replied with three rapid strikes of his own. The scout staggered, the blows to the head taking their toll. Raziel moved in, using his left foot to press down on the scout’s knee. He started to fall and, grabbing him by the hair, Raziel slammed his head into the wall.

Raziel paused for a moment, standing over the soldier's prone form considering his next move. Returning to his bag, he retrieved a silent projectile pistol. He put a round in each of the man's legs. It was against every military convention, but it was simple maths. One dead soldier was bad for the enemy. One wounded soldier, the two soldiers to carry him from the field and the medical expenses were worse.

Raziel put away the weapon. He rolled up his blanket and packed it away before slinging the heavy bag back over his shoulder. He had to find a vantage point before dawn. He had to witness the arrival of the Reborn Jedi and gauge their strength.