Silence reigned in the Shadowlands of Kashyyyk as the alien star map console fizzled and powered down. Not a sound was heard. Even the tachs had ceased their ubiquitous chattering, as though in reverence for the information revealed. Or maybe they were just frightened by the racket of an ancient computer grinding to a halt.
"Well!" Jolee exclaimed, glancing from the star map, to his companions and back again. "That was exciting! In fact, a bit too exciting for a man my age. Now if you kids will excuse me, I'm going to use the little hermit's room. Don't get eaten by a kinrath while I'm gone!"
As Jolee wandered off into the woods, Carth turned on his companion. "We're going to talk. Now."
Simra Graeme glared at him. "Now's not a good time, Carth."
"Now's a perfect time, after what you pulled. You'd really leave all those people to die? That's monstrous!"
"I'm not in the mood for your moralizing, Carth," Simra said, stalking away.
"Hold on, missy. I'm not through with you!" Carth spun Simra around by her shoulder and pulled her close so that they were almost nose-to-nose. "I just start thinking 'Hey! This Jedi's all right! Maybe we have a chance at this 'saving the galaxy' thing' and you go and reveal that you'd be perfectly OK to stand around while somebody commits genocide?"
"I lied!" she yelled.
Carth froze. "What?"
"I lied," Simra repeated. "The machine clearly wanted me to be ruthless. So I gave it ruthless."
Carth took a step back, eying her suspiciously. "The machine said it was reading your thought patterns. You couldn't have lied to it." When her face didn't waver, Carth continued, a disgusted look on his face. "Or if you did manage to trick it, what does that say about you?"
"That I'm willing to do what needs to be done to accomplish our mission."
"So the end justifies the means, is that it?"
"When the means is deceiving a pile of chips and circuits, yes!"
There was an awkward pause as the two scowled at one another.
"This mission is important," Simra insisted, staring Carth dead in the eyes. "If we don't stop Malak, billions of innocents will die. The galaxy will be enslaved. You're a soldier. You know wars can't be won by playing nice. All we can do is try to minimize damage and work so that those we sacrifice don't die in vain."
Carth stared at her as though seeing her for the first time. "Listen to yourself," he said, shaking his head. "Is a war worth winning if you lose your soul along the way?" Simra's eyes softened. She stared at him for a moment, suddenly looking very old.
"If the galaxy is better for it," she said, turning her tired gaze to the treetops, "my soul is a small price to pay." And she strode off into the night.
Author's note: Simra Graeme is my head-canon Revan, and the Revan from my most recent play-through. I played shortly after completing "Shadow of Revan" in SWTOR for the first time, and was trying to play a morally gray Revan to fit with that characterization, and this fic resulted. For those who are curious, I used the black character model with long-ish hair.