Inspired by meldy-arts's Are You Afraid.
The cold rush of air entering the cell broke Ezra from the hold of his unconsciousness. The gust brushed against exposed, broken skin and incited the frayed edges of the torn flightsuit to dance momentarily, the first sign of life Ezra had noticed in what seemed like ages. Slowly, the haze that clouded each of his senses receded. A burn in the edges of his lips reminded him of the gag that had been forced into his mouth, wearing at the delicate skin at the slightest movement. He had no intention of speaking; the days of screaming had worn his throat hoarse and bloody.
Blood. It seemed to be the only thing he could sense anymore. The taste of it, stale and metallic trapped in the cloth around his mouth. The frigid feeling of the tendrils that ran down his face from the lacerations on his brow continued to cool under the exposure of the air. Mustering the strength to open his one good eye, he could just begin to make out the dark red lines that emanated at the heavy metal binders that encased his forearms and trickled down his fingertips to a small pool on the floor.
Everything was blood and pain. His body seemed to resent every thought, every movement. Ezra marshalled what little strength he had to lift his head. At the door of the cell, the lights of the corridor cast the figure that occupied the doorway as an undecipherable silhouette. Blinding white light erupted from above his head, his flinch eliciting another wave of pain. He could hear soft footfalls approaching him, and the sinister hiss-clank of the door sliding to a close. The footsteps stopped, perhaps a meter away from the short metal stool he sat upon.
"I must commend you," a cool, feminine voice began. "Your stamina, to this point, has lived up to your reputation. It seems the legends of the Jedi's mystical strength were grounded in a shred of reality."
Ezra opened his eye again, attempting to focus beyond the harsh light above him. The gray pleats of uniform trousers were visible, but the combination of the spotlight and the intense pain of trying to raise his head left the face unrecognizable beyond the jaw-length hair that framed it. The voice continued.
"It seems odd that in a galaxy as vast and as populated as ours, how some names seem to continue to re-emerge. Even Lothal, a relatively backwater planet in my own opinion, has several billion inhabitants, names, families…" The voice lingered on the word, as if waiting for it to land on Ezra's eardrums. "And yet yours remains at the forefront of Imperial attention, Ezra Bridger."
The figure descended to a crouch, revealing the unmistakable face of Lothal's provincial overlord, Governor Pryce.
Ezra narrowed his eye, staring directly into the woman's cold gaze. Defiance seemed to well up in him, as if the politician's power meant nothing in his mind. She continued to hold his gaze, then her eyes flicked first to the gashes in his forehead, then to the torn fabric of the flightsuit.
"I'm not here to ask questions. I already know everything I need." Pryce's tone remained steely, but deep undertones of self-confidence and gloating. "I'm sure you would enjoy attempting to frustrate me with your unwillingness to talk, but there simply isn't a need at this point." She stood and turned her back to him, dimming the spotlight so that he could see her clearly. Turning to face him, she brought her hands behind the small of her back.
"Agent Kallus was a fool to think he could hide his beliefs from me forever," Pryce's words eliciting a new pang of guilt and fear in Ezra's core. "We have dealt with him accordingly. Thankfully for him, he has a long record of distinguished service to the Empire. His mind simply requires rehabilitation." Ezra tried to remain stoic, stifling the cringe that ran through his body from the way Pryce had said the word. "You, on the other hand, I'm afraid you cannot be helped. The seed of rebellion runs through your blood."
Pryce drew closer, returning to the crouch that brought her just above Ezra's eye level. "You certainly are Ephraim and Mira's child, without a doubt," Pryce stated, peering directly into Ezra's eye. His body tensed, the sound of the Imperial even saying his parent's names making his blood run cold. "Such a shame, those two. Always a voice for the poor, the downtrodden. In another life, perhaps they could have helped us build the system that will raise the oppressed from their conditions." Ezra's nostrils flared, rejecting any notion that his beloved parents would have colluded in any way with the Empire.
"I took no pride signing the order for their arrest. I genuinely thought they would be able to understand what we are trying to do, with the right amount of persuasion." She ran a hand through his hair, inciting his hatred further. "The thought of you living alone, on the streets, was enough to keep them in line. Sadly, your untimely message undid all the work I had spent trying to help them," The hand tightened into a fist, gripping his hair and forcing his head back. "They died before I could help them see the truth."
Pryce ran a finger along Ezra's cheek, wiping away one of the trails of blood. Her cold stare broke into a sinister grin as she watched the anger flashing in his eyes. "Tell me, Ezra," she demanded, the mocking tone rising in her voice. "Are you afraid? You certainly don't fear for your own life, you have demonstrated that well enough." The fingers slipped from his cheek and gathered around his chin, keeping him transfixed to her condescending smile. "No… you fear for them. Your family. The parents you did nothing to free. And now, this band you call a rebellion, who even in all your power, you cannot save."
Ezra's hatred could be contained no further. He reached out to the Force, drawing all the power he could muster to drive his bound fists into her jaw. As soon as he flinched, pain like a raging fire engulfed him. The cracking of electricity popped and hissed as he convulsed off of the stool, landing hard on the metal floor beneath him. When the torment finally passed, Ezra could feel fresh blood beginning to seep down his face.
"Brave, but foolish," Pryce remarked. "Almost poetic that you must suffer for the lessons that I learned from your Mandalorian companion." Ezra tried to rise, but a booted heel slammed into his side, sending fresh agony through his body. Pryce walked behind him, grabbing the back of his collar and bringing him to a prostrate position on the metal floor. Releasing him, the weight of the binders drug his hands to his knees, cowing his head. "All this effort to stand, yet all you ever needed to do was kneel."
A cold metal ring pressed against the back of his skull. The metallic click of a safety being released made Ezra's stomach sink. "The war has ended for you, Ezra Bridger," Pryce's voice sounded behind him. The image from the holodisk of his family, then Kanan, then Hera, then Zeb, then Sabine flashed in Ezra's mind. He waited.
Nothing.
"But you have use to me yet."
The pressure of the barrel pulled away from his head. A dark chill surrounded his entire body. Unable to control himself, Ezra began to shake, tears streaming from his eyes. Footfalls moved away from him, the door opening once more. "Good. Call to your master. Hopefully, they shall be along shortly to join you."
The door slid shut, entombing Ezra in darkness once more.
Author's note: There have been a lot of capture/torture stories written already in the Star Wars Rebels universe, and most of them are really good. I wanted to try to focus more on the psychological side, which often leaves the greatest scars on people. In addition to Medly-Arts's fantastic work, I took a lot of inspiration from hadesgirl015 and their absolutely fantastic short, "Broken." As always, comments and concerns are more than welcome. Thank you for reading!
All the best,
JA