Again, it has been way too long my friends. I have been put on a research team for my Chemistry degree, and all of my free time has been taken for running samples through the IR and UV-VIS. Poodoo. Anyway. This is shorter than usual, but it is something. I wanted to reward you wonderful, sexy people.

Tears had long since stopped falling from her bloodshot and dry eyes, and she sat on the floor of the seamless cage, knees tucked close to her chest. Her heart was empty and pulsed dully in its cavity, and with every inhale, the gaping hole seemed to stretch wider. Ever moment of life seemed ever more dreadful. Part of her was angry at how much damage that man had caused her, but the other part of her knew that what he took from her was all she had left that was untainted and undamaged. Now, she was just another body in the war. She was just another Jedi. Just another woman too weak to defend herself. A statistic.

Oh she had tried everything she knew to remove herself from that situation, but fact of the matter was that a nearly two hundred pound soldier could easily over power a one hundred pound woman in close quarters. She had been starved, refused water and human contact, and her strength had long since been sapped from her muscles. Her clothes hung in tatters, and her ribs were easily seen beneath unhealthy and stretched skin. Bastila thanked the Force that her cage was no reflective because the sight of her must be terrible.

Spirited though she was, and stubborn, a weight sat on her heart that she could not shake. Depression was what the medics called this condition, but Bastila had always disregarded the condition before. Now, she realized what a fool she had been. This was awful. Her limbs were numb and useless. Her mind was constantly dwelling on the hopelessness that filled her entire future.

No Jedi team or Republic spies had been able to penetrate this far into Darth Malak's army to rescue even men more important than herself. She was doomed to this life, alone. In this moment, she hated Revan. She hated him more than she thought herself capable. Yes, she had lied to him about his life, but the consequences of the truth were terrifying and against her direct orders. She had apologized in their parting moment. And now? He had abandoned her to face this torture alone. How foolish could she be to trust in love? The Masters had always warned her about her compassionate heart, and they were absolutely right. Absolutely right, but also weak.

The Masters were incapable of rescuing anyone; they were crippled by their own code. In her torture she had learned one very important lesson – anger give you strength. Even at her weakest, her anger allowed her another sliver of defiance, one more attempt to defend herself, and one more action of violence. Anger kept her heart from shattering into a million pieces when that solider left her there to bleed. Anger soothed her mind when she wanted nothing more than to give up entirely.

Darth Malak was right. The Sith were right. Anger and passion gave great strength, and strength was what she needed. Though she was still sane enough to defy the Dark Lord, she knew she would have to change her tactics. So she sat in her cage, calm and cool and allowed all of the hatred and anger she felt toward Malak, the soldier, the Sith, the Jedi, and even Revan to bathe her in power. She sat this way for what she thought were days. The light never changed in this room.

Another soldier came in, and this time, she was ready. She would not beg. She would not plead. She would not give him the satisfaction of her fear. Bastila stood proudly and curled her elegant fingers into tight fists, blue-grey eyes turning into pools of ice. The blood that stained her face gave her a war paint of frightening contrast, and she cocked her head to the side in a gesture of insanity.

"Did your friend tell you of his conquest?" she asked, her voice beautiful and dangerous. "Did he describe to you my pain and anguish? Tell you that he made me his?"

The soldier, slightly caught off guard, raised a dark brow. "His stories were told for hours in the dining hall," he replied in a deep voice. "Does this embarrass you?" He crossed his arms over his chest and smirked slightly.

Bastila felt the anger surge in her again, and she leaned against the wall in a nonchalant manner, folding her arms over her stomach. "I will admit that it does, a little," she replied. "Though I am angered by it more." She eyed him carefully. He was shorter than the last man, perhaps just shy of six feet tall. He was younger, too. His face still had traces of child's fat that clung to his cheeks, and he was obviously not as battle hardened as his colleagues. The soldier's ego also did not match any physical prowess that Bastila could see, and he was unarmed.

The soldier was very unsure of how to handle her now. She was actually acting a little frightening. She was too calm. She was nothing of what his superior had told about earlier. "I would be worried if raping you did not anger you," he replied with a short laugh, moving forward confidently.

Bastila smirked and raised a finger, halting his progress. "Though you deserve no such kindness from me, I will give you a warning," she spoke clearly. "Come any closer, and I will kill you." A shadow of a memory whispered that the Jedi do not kill prisoners, but the thought was so easy to brush aside. She wanted this boy dead. She wanted them to have to come and drag his lifeless body from her cage.

The soldier laughed. "Kill me? Is that a promise?" he asked, thinking that he would be superior. All he needed to do was incapacitate and emaciated, weak woman. How hard could that possibly be? He gave her a smirk before lunging for her, thinking he would grab her around the waist and push her down beneath him.

Anger gave her focus, and she easily sidestepped his lunge, sending him sprawling to the ground. With a brutal, angry cry, she slammed the heel of her boot down on the lower part of his back. If he did not urinate blood in the morning, she would not have done her job very well. His cry of pain gave her pleasure, and she thought for a moment how it must have felt like to be Malak. Interesting. The soldier tried to stand, but she easily kicked him in the head, sending him sprawling to the side.

In a moment, he was on his feet again and furious. "Bold bitch," he commented, wiping blood from his lips. "You will pay for that." Angrily, he lunged at her again, though carefully this time. He managed to get one of his stronger arms around her waist, and he pulled her to him.

Bastila smirked again as he pulled her close, not fighting back for a moment. She would allow him to think that he was winning, the fool. Then, she drew one of her legs slightly upward, the skin on her thigh exposed through a gash her in clothing. In a split second her leg was back down, the heel of her boot firmly planted in his instep. With another cry of anger, she spun, hitting him in the face. She immediately followed this by using the heel of her palm to break his nose from underneath.

He cried out in pain again and stumbled backward, but Bastila was relentless. Her eyes held no mercy or compassion as he had none for her. She was angry, and she allowed it to shower her in cool calm. She was on him in an instant, kicking him firmly in the chest. He fell backward. He tried to get up and she spun around, using the force from her hips to kick him in the head. Anger was her only drive. Bastila put the heel of her boot on his throat, watching as he coughed up blood like he had done so many times before.

She stared down as his eyes looked up at her pleadingly. Nothing stirred in her heart. "Good night," she whispered before kicking his face in. By the time she was done, blood was spattered over her entire body, and the soldier did not have much of a head left. Bastila stared at the point where he came in and backed into a corner, settling. She would do this again, and again.

The body stayed there, and she was not bothered. Eventually, exhaustion from her brief adrenalin rush coursed through her veins, and she closed her eyes, seemingly falling asleep. But her mind and her ears were very much awake. She heard a strange, creaking metallic sound and cracked an eye open as a few men entered her small space to retrieve the body, but she was ready. Bastila launched her body through the doorway before they had a moment to react, and she sprinted down the hall. Being out in the open was so… liberating. How could a ship be so vast? What would the sky look like to her now?

An alarm sounded to ring, but the noise hardly touched her ears. She could hear nothing but the beat of her own heart and the taste of freedom. Bastila ran through a closing door and slowed to a walk as she was faced with many open hallways. She took one and found herself in the medical ward. Her brows were furrowed as she saw a bed she had been laying in months ago, and she found it so hard to remember what she had been thinking. The Bastila who had come here was so naïve and pitiful.

The medic, Galen, looked up and was entirely shocked to see the Jedi girl standing in front of him. She was in terrible condition. Her skin, stretched too thin, was covered in blood in various states of drying. Dark, bruising circles rested under her eyes. Her once, thick and beautiful hair was matted and falling out from malnourishment. And her eyes… they were gone. She had broken just like the others, but it had taken her almost three whole weeks. Her gaze was piercing, blaming.

Suddenly, the gravity of the situation hit him, and he pulled her inside, surprised at how hard she slapped him. "Dammit, woman, I am trying to help you!" he hissed in a whisper, pulling her into one of the privacy rooms.

Bastila followed the medic and narrowed her eyes, distrusting. "Why?" she asked. Was that a dream or was that real? Did he try and help her escape? She couldn't know.

Galen frowned. "Because this… what you have become… it isn't you," he said, peering suspiciously out the door.

Bastila snorted. "I was turned into this monster and I hate it," she responded, determining that those were the last open words she would speak. "Move, I am leaving." She moved past him and opened the door.

"No, wait!" he grunted, trying to catch her arm, but she shrugged him away. He watched helplessly as she began to run down the hallway.

Bastila turned a corner and ran headlong into a battledroid. She now understand what it meant by running into a brick wall. She tumbled over and slowly picked herself back up, rubbing the quickly forming bruises. When she looked up, she was staring down the barrel of a blaster, and she frowned.

"Halt!" it growled. "Jedi prisoner, you are under arrest!"

The Jedi rolled her eyes angrily. "I've been under arrest for months you worthless piece of scrap metal!" she screamed angrily in its face.

More battledroids surrounded her, and she groaned, leaning down on her knees to catch her breath. The heavy booted steps of Dark Malak approached, but she no longer felt fear. She stood up tall and stared him boldly in his yellow eyes. She would not give up her freedom again, even if it meant she had to die. The change in her was visibly obvious. "I am not going back," she told him firmly.

Dark Malak had never been so entirely pleased before as he was right now. She looked… terrible, but that look in his eyes was something he could work with. Of course this entire ordeal had been part of his plan, though her escape did take him by surprise. Though he longed to feel her skin against his own, he knew he could not be the one to cause her so much harm and have her still trust him. So, he sent in his soldiers to do the job. And they did it well.

"I would never dream of punishing such bravery, Bastila," he said. "In fact, if you will follow me to the medbay, we can talk while you are fixed up." They walked for the first time side by side to the medbay, and she did not realize how far she had run until now.

Minutes later, she was in that same bed, and the wires came out of her arms in torrents. She was being pumped full of fluids and monitored carefully. Surgery was needed to repair most of the damage that had been caused, but she was mercifully under anesthesia for most of it. The talk with Lord Malak had been brief. He had requested her presence as soon as she was well again. The process of becoming "well" took a disturbingly long time.

After four days, she stood up and looked in the mirror. Training and discipline would return her figure to its former glory, but until then, the slender form would have to do. Her hair was clean and her deft fingers easily put it into a braid. The padawan braid had long since fallen out, and she did not give much of a damn about it anymore. Punishment by being berating seemed laughable now. Bastila slid on simple robes and stepped into boots, and she walked out of the medbay without an escort or chains. She felt… almost good. Almost, but she was suppressing quite a bit of psychological shit.

Bastila walked around the ship for a few moments, allowing herself to think before meeting Darth Malak in his private chambers for dinner. This felt a little premature, she thought. She had not agreed to become his apprentice, but she was not complaining about this freedom. The young woman sat down at the large table, having ignored the Dark Lord's presence for the moment. He was static and therefore not an immediate threat. She thought like this now, in terms of potential pain. Food was served by the droids, and she ate politely in silence.

"Will you serve me as my apprentice now?" Darth Malak asked casually.

Bastila paused in eating for a moment and leaned back into her chair, scrutinizing his expression. "Am I correct in guessing that my new freedom will be rescinded of I were to decline?" she asked curiously.

"I am afraid you would be correct," he replied. "Though I would regret having to do so."

"Naturally," Bastila grunted sarcastically.

"Your choice?" he asked.

"I am not allowed to finish dinner?" she questioned.

"I would prefer a swift answer."

"I will be your apprentice."

"You – will?" he asked, not expecting this to be so easy.

Bastila looked up and smirked at him darkly. "Only if the Sith rule of killing your Master still applies," she said with a wicked tone.

Darth Malak laughed. "Indeed it does," he replied. "Welcome, my apprentice."

"And a good day to you too, Master. Do not get too comfortable."

Don't hate me. Just see what's coming. :) Love on me with some reviews? Or hate on me... either way.