Ty wiped the blood from his claws onto his pants and stuck the fallen soldier’s blaster in his pocket. The struggle had been swift and merciless. His guard had only realized Ty’s hands were free in the moment before his death. There was a reason the old saying said never to turn one’s back on a Detyen.

But everyone forgot their past.

He found a keycard and old fashioned key chain in his guard’s pocket. Ty grabbed those as well and tried not to think too hard about what he’d just done. He’d killed before, the situation very much like this. But he was not a killer by nature and his stomach rioted at the thought of the horror he’d just committed.

He would do far worse to save Dorsey.

They hadn’t gone far from the interrogation room. The guard had pulled him to a different small room down the hall, and the moment his back was turned, Ty made his move. Now he left the guard lying dead in the corning. The only way the dead guard would be seen was if someone opened the door, and there was no reason to do that.

So Ty left him in the corner. He opened the door to storm back to Dorsey’s interrogation chamber just as the door opened and Droscus, that skynlax-eating nightmare, walked out. Ty darted back into the room just before the General turned his way and saw that he was no longer under control of the guard.

Ty stood next to the door, claws out and ready to pounce if Droscus chose to look in. He doubted the fight would be as easy as overcoming an unsuspecting guard. The general walked down the hall, boots clicking ever closer. Ty flicked his fingers out, waiting, his breath overly loud in the quiet room.

And the click of the boots faded, steadily moving farther away. Whatever the guard was supposed to do to him, he hadn’t needed additional orders.

Ty waited another ten seconds from when he couldn’t hear Droscus anymore before flying out of the room and down the hall to Dorsey’s cell. There had to be a security camera or bot monitoring the hallway, but Ty didn’t let himself worry about that. Even more importantly, he didn’t let himself think about all of the things they could have done to Dorsey.

He didn’t let his fear freeze him in place, and he didn’t let his rage take him over and boil his blood. All he did was move.

He swiped the card across the door lock and pulled out the blaster he’d grabbed from the dead guard. Ty crouched down as he busted in, aiming his weapon in front of him and shooting as soon as he caught a glimpse of the guard looming over Dorsey.

One blaster shot wasn’t enough to take this guard down. Blasters weren’t lethal and the guard was wearing armor to further diffuse the energy. They still hurt as much as a strong punch.

The guard wheeled on him, leaving Dorsey where she sat in a chair that hadn’t been there when Ty had been taken away. Her arms were still bound, but she wasn’t tied down to anything. He spared her only a second long glance before dodging out of the way as the guard raised his own blaster and fired. The energy bolt sizzled past his ear and blasted into the wall, scorching the dark paint.

Dorsey rolled out of her chair and crawled away from the guard while Ty shot again. He was hit by the blaster fire, punching him in the gut and knocking the air out of his lungs. It burned, but Ty grit his teeth against the pain and fired again.

The guard was a dancer, spinning and firing, avoiding more than half of the shots that Ty pointed his way.

Ty couldn’t dodge. They were in close quarters and he didn’t have the training to deflect. But he could take a lot of damage, more than a human could. So he stopped trying to dodge, straightening to his full height and charging towards the guard. He shot off his blaster as fast as the bolts would fire, all the while taking shots straight to his chest.

With the next hit, Ty realized that the guard’s blaster was on a low setting, the goal to hurt, not incapacitate. Exactly what a person would use when their target was already tied up. He barely felt the second blast, the rage was so strong and overpowering. It was the third that nearly brought him to his knees, but he couldn’t fall. If Ty fell, he was dead.

His own blaster was on the strongest setting, but between the guard’s armor and his dodging they were almost equally matched for strength of the blasts.

Ty closed the last of the distance between them and tossed his blaster aside. He ripped out with his claws, swiping the guard against the side of his face and down one arm. This close, the blasters weren’t much use, which the guard realized.

The guard was in trouble. Ty was too close to shoot and he couldn’t get enough leverage to properly hit him. And with his claws, Ty was more wild animal than man. He knew exactly how to swipe and hit for maximum damage.

And still the guard would not go down. Bleeding from multiple wounds, favoring his side after a particularly vicious cut, and clearly overpowered by Ty’s strength, he still fought back, kicking and hitting.

And then the guard got lucky.

He swiped out his leg and Ty tripped, falling backwards and unable to brace himself. He crashed onto the floor, narrowly avoiding the edge of the table. Shock rippled through him, the dull thud of his body an insult to the amount of pain inflicted as his head smashed against the cold hard tiles.

The guard advanced on him, a wicked grin made only more sinister by the blood dripping down his lip. He swung his leg back and kicked Ty hard in the side. Something crunched and pain stabbed him from the top of his abdomen down to his hips. Ty tried to roll away, but the guard had the advantage now and he kicked again, pushing Ty over onto his back and leaving bruises in his wake.

Metal gleamed as the guard unsheathed a blade and raised it up, ready to strike the killing blow. “You’re not the only one here who can cut,” he sneered.

Ty scuttled back in an attempt to give himself enough room to move, but it wasn’t enough. The guard waved the blade around, savoring the final moments before his inevitable kill.

The guard’s eyes widened, and Ty heard the tell-tale zing of blaster fire. Clutching his neck, the guard toppled forward and moaned in pain. Ty saw Dorsey advancing on him, one hand holding the blaster while her other was cradled awkwardly against her chest.

Only when he was prone did Dorsey stop firing, but the guard wasn’t dead. Not yet.

Ty remedied that with a swipe of his claws. It was quick and clean and not over fast enough.

As the blood poured out of the dead guard’s throat, Ty came to himself. He felt a fog lift around him as pain settled into place, nearly hobbling him. He was hunched over the guard’s still form, breathing heavy. His hands dripped with blood and he could feel his face swelling and bruising. If he looked in a mirror he’d see a sickly purplish-gray instead of his normal blue.

The blaster shook in Dorsey’s hand, and for a second, Ty was convinced she was about to shoot him. He knew he looked like a monster right now, claws out, face discolored, eyes glowing.

Slowly she lowered her arm and placed the blaster on the table beside her. Her other arm brushed against the chair and she winced.

Ty’s eyes focused in on her left hand. Her thumb was red and bruised and hung loosely. It was broken.

“I was afraid you were dead,” she said. She stumbled toward him and placed her uninjured hand against the only non-bloodied spot on his shoulder.

Ty hitched his arm up around her shoulder, sheathing his claws. “While you live, I will never let you stay in danger.”