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Chapter Three

Slipping Through His Fingers

"The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane."

- Marcus Aurelius

Slowly, one at a time, the screaming in the rooms around me ceased. As I screamed myself, not feeling any of the pain from the torture and being quite bored really, I concentrated on the sounds of the others. They couldn't be torturing everyone; the screams only came from a few distinct directions, rather than from all over like it would have if the First Order saw fit to torture everyone brought with me. So it was probably only the likely ones. Ones with verified ties to the Resistance, no matter how small. Not even the tie to the First Order I had through my father was enough to absolve me, and was trumped by that of my mother.

Eventually, after what seemed like ages, The same officer from before came in and the droid backed off. He looked over my vital signs and the impressive marks the droid caused. They were superficial but all over; there was no point in seriously injuring me if I was to work in the morning after all. I wouldn't even scar, and most of the torture had been chemical and electric in nature. Not that I felt a thing. The electricity did make me jump, though. Merely muscle twitches, but it helped to at least make it look like I was in pain.

"Now that we've become such friends, Ms. Lanlake," The officer sneered, "Tell me everything you know about the Resistance attempts to retake Turshaval."

"Nothing!" I cried out, panting heavily, "I know nothing!"

This went back and forth for a good ten minutes. His questions, my same claims of knowing nothing over and over. A few more burns and pokes and prods from the droid and chemicals in the IV. Always the same answer, and I thought I played my part of actually feeling the pain well.

"You see, I believe you," The officer said, "We've already found the Resistance scum. Of course, the rest must be interrogated to make sure there's not more of them." He leaned down, eyes narrowing, "Now, citizen, why was this done to you?"

I didn't have to miss a beat; I wasn't "reconditioned" like the First Order military, but everyone was taught enough during occupation. I plucked the lines nearly verbatim from the constant propaganda newscasts, "Because order must be maintained. The Resistance is against order and discipline, and must be cleansed." By the Force, those words tasted metallic. Too dark, too false. But I said them anyway.

The officer leaned back, "Good."

He left, the droid and medical personnel following. Then two stormtroopers came in and my restraints were undone. I sighed and stood fluidly, rubbing my wrists. I would assume, if I could feel pain, they would be sore. Red was blossoming on them, and I knew they would bruise. When the stormtroopers led me out, it was only with a couple others. All the cells were open, so I just assumed that I was one of the last released from this particular round of interrogations.

Malia, Petra, and the rest of the female cantina staff were already gone. As the last of us were led to the main base entrance (since we came from multiple places, it would be 'inefficient' of the stormtroopers to lead us individually. It was so dark outside. The two tiny moons of the planet glowed with the stars; one white, one an off-blue. The stormtroopers unceremoniously dropped half of us at that entrance, and I didn't have to ask where the others were taken. They probably hadn't conformed as well, and would be taken for reeducation. It's best to just blend into the masses to avoid that particular fate, though it was used rarely on locals. The longer the First Order held the planet, however, the more reconditioning of locals became. Going on long enough, this would be a place of strict order. Boring.

When I reached my apartment building and climbed, I stopped on Malia's floor. On a whim, I turned and went down that hall. I had to know how bad it was for her, and if she needed help. With a lifetime of being unable to feel pain, I had to learn very well how to dress wounds quickly.

"Malia?" I knocked on her room, "Malia, you there?"

There was some rustling, and quickly the door opened. She was staring at the floor; purple and yellow blossomed on the right side of her face. She had a few cuts here and there, but not much. Her wrists were bruised too, like mine, but hers had added cuts and bloody marks. Shit; had I not struggled enough to emulate someone who felt pain?

She didn't say anything, so I said, "Hey, can I come in?"

Malia nodded and moved out of the way. Her apartment was identical to mine, save for some different pictures and drawings on the wall. She even had a potted plant under a small lamp with a bendable neck. That was a good idea; I would have to remember it.

And then, the waterworks started.

Malia collapsed in my arms and I guided her to the bed, wrapping my arms around her and just holding the girl. There was a tightness in my chest, an odd sort of agony coupled with a sudden rush of anger. This was the closest to pain I ever got; from a mix of anger, empathy, and the tightness in my chest whenever someone I knew was hurt.

She recounted what they'd done to her. Technically, she'd had it easier than me. No droids came into her torture session, nor chemical-filled IV bags. She was just questioned and batted around a bit by an officer. Malia's parents were both First Order, and her younger brother was taken as an infant to serve as a stormtrooper, a fact they were proud of. So she couldn't be a Resistance spy. But of course, they had to make sure. So she was beaten around anyway.

"Why would they do that?" She sniffled, "My family is loyal. My-my mom and dad believe in the First Order ideals. My uncle serves on the Finalizer."

"It sucks. I know, I know it does," I held her tighter.

She sniffed and looked up at me through watery lashes, "How? How are you always so calm? Didn't they hurt you too?"

I showed her the few marks I had, and the cut from the IV. While she was more bruised, I had more red from slices and chemicals, "They brought in a droid that tortured me. Chemicals, and IV, all kinds of things. I was one of the last ones released during our round of interrogations."

"But-but why?" Malia grabbed my elbow and touched the IV mark, "Iliana, you... you never seem to care about either side. Your dad was in the First Order, right?"

"And my mom was in the Resistance," I said with a small, sad smile, "So, really, I guess that's why."

"But you got out okay? How... how did you stand it?"

I leaned forward so our foreheads touched, and wiped away some of my friend's tears, "Well, it's a secret."

Her face fell, "You can't tell me?"

"Oh I will, but you have to promise never to tell a soul," I winked. Sure, mom didn't like me telling people, but it was hardly a secret next to the one I carried about the whispers and the Force. She nodded vigorously, almost smiling. Good; maybe this would get her mind off it all, "I can't feel pain."

Her eyes bugged out, "Wait... what? You're joking!"

I shook my head and leaned back a bit, but kept the girl in a hug. She'd stopped trembling now, "Nope. Remember when I burned my stomach in the kitchen? And all the times I've burned or cut myself there, but didn't seem to mind?" Malia nodded, "Well, it's because I was born with it. Called congenital analgesia or congential insensitivity to pain."

"Wow..." She blinked, "So like, when you cut the crap out of your fingers two months ago cutting veggies...?"

"I felt the sharpness, but not the pain. Not a bit," I stuck out my tongue and pointed for a second at the scarring there, "And before you say that sounds awesome, I've nearly accidentally bitten my tongue off more times that I can count. And I have to be very careful not to chew my nails or lip when I'm nervous."

"Whoa..."

"You're the only one who knows, except maybe the doctor I saw when I was a baby and a couple other people from back in the capitol," I put a finger up to my mouth, "So no telling, okay?"

She nodded vigorously. And just like any other time a non-medical professional learned about my condition, she launched into a barrage of questions and I didn't get out of the apartment for another hour. Finally, I was walking up the steps to the fifth floor. Then, with a strange tug in the Force and the whispers, it happened again.

"Turn around."

There was no echo to the voice, like there was when he spoke in my head. Strangely, there wasn't even the metallic alterations of the helmet. Meaning that, wherever he was, he wasn't wearing it. He was standing, right behind me, but I also knew he wasn't there. I knew if I turned to look at him, he would get a good look at my face. This was just like in the hallway after I repaired the panel. If I spoke, he could easily pull everyone out again for another interrogation and come through the rooms himself, looking for who matched the voice.

"You will turn around and give me your name. Now."

I walked into my apartment and slammed the door behind me. He didn't follow.

CAUTION. CAUTION.

He was standing in a room, dark like the interrogation wards but with less lighting and a plush, black-sheeted bed. He wasn't wearing the helmet - it sat on the table his hands were thrust upon - and his back was to me. I could see that his hair was unruly, slightly curled. A part of me wanted to see his face, but largely I didn't care. If he kept it hidden, it was for a reason.

But I drew back and blended in, dispersing myself in the wall. I didn't want him seeing me again.

A hologram turned on next to him. It was General Hux, "Ren, I have some information that might be of use to you."

"What?" Lord Ren's voice was short, snippy. He wasn't in a mood to talk.

"But first, remind me-" There was a teasing, almost snarl to the General's voice. It was obvious neither liked each other in the least, "-what is it you remember about the girl? Who apparently was so unimportant that you couldn't even remember her name? No matter how much you do your little meditations and ask your precious Force?"

"Do you remember every single damn acquaintance you ever knew for barely a handful of days?!" Lord Ren scoffed. His knuckles began to curl, the leather of his gloves cracking, "Stop playing these games, Hux, and tell me what you found you sniveling weasel."

"That's hardly a way to talk to someone doing you a favor, Ren."

He slammed a fist into the wall, and I felt the Force in the metal sheeting bend to his will. So he was like me, too. Only steeped in darkness, given in to emotions and unable to control them, "Tell me now before I come down to the control room and strangle them out of you."

"Very well," Hux drawled, "We found three insurgents from the Resistance. There's likely more among the locals and in the capitol, but they are preforming interrogations there as well. The only reason we're in this god-forsaken spit of a port is because of your errand anyway."

Oh no.

"Hux."

"Calm yourself down for once in your life, Ren, I'm telling you what we found," I couldn't see it, but I was ready to bet the ginger-haired General was rolling his eyes, "There was an anomaly among the people we used more... forceful methods of interrogation on."

"The IT-000 interrogator droids?"

"The very ones," Hux said, seeming bored with the whole affair, "Well, there was... one interrogation. A girl too, just like you said.-"

Oh hell.

"From what I heard from the medical officer overseeing usage of the IT-000 unit and the officer overseeing the interrogations, she was flawlessly in pain the entire time, however..."

"Get on with it, Hux."

"Her stress response never really changed much the whole time," Hux said, "Didn't you say you remembered her not reacting to pain?"

A flash. Another time, another place. I was short to the ground, a child running through the halls of the governmental buildings. My mother was calling my name from below, so I was running around trying to find the stairs again. But this place was a maze, and I was lost, and there was no one around to ask-

I turned a corner and slammed into someone a lot bigger than me with such a force that I fell backwards, arms and legs all akimbo. My arm slammed into something that shattered - a vase of some sort if I remember - and suddenly red exploded from it.

Ben knelt in front of me, panicking as blood poured from my arm, "Oh Force, oh Force are you okay? Mom's going to be so mad at me-"

"It's okay," I shot him a toothy grin. I took off my jacket and wrapped the arm up, all smiles and giggling, "It doesn't hurt, silly."

"What are you talking about?! You're bleeding everywhere!"

"I get hurt all the time, it's fine," My little self giggled again. Then I dropped the bomb on him, "I'm a pretty little mutant. I can't feel pain, Mr. Ben!"

I gasped and shot up, sweat beading down my forehead. I gasped for breath, feeling a bit irritated at the lack of air in my lungs. That dream - that vision - ... Lord Ren knew me? He was that... Ben guy I saw a handful of times when General Leia visited Turshaval when it was in Resistance hands? And now he was here with the First Order. Against the Resistance. Snuffing it out of the planet again. I'd told him I can't feel pain as a child. He'd seen me use the Force once, told me the word for it. I saw him maybe six times in my whole life over the span of months, but he knew enough.

The presence came so thick I choked on it. It tried to assault my mind, but I threw up my walls and shut it out. The presence was Kylo Ren. He knew who I was. He knew my name.

And he was coming here.

I took one deep breath. Then two. Then three. And then, I acted. I bolted out of bed like a bat out of hell and threw open my closet. I had three sets of clothes that weren't uniforms; those went into my only backpack - a threadbare thing I'd had since primary school - along with a couple bars of food from the cabinet above the microwave. I was still in night clothes, but didn't have time to change so I just threw on my one thick jacket and warmest shoes. It was fall on Turshaval, not too cold yet but I wasn't sure where I was going or how I was getting there just that I needed to get away.

The whispers warned me of them. They'd entered the building. At least... at least a dozen stormtroopers. Maybe more, it was hard to tell because the dark seeping presence of Kylo Ren overtook them all.

So I hoisted up the tiny apartment window, situated about halfway up the wall by my bed, and closed it behind me. There was grating, emergency ladders for getting to ground level in case of a fire. I pushed myself out and onto them, backpack slung over my shoulders and heart beating a strong, irratic rhythm in my chest. I felt the presence closer now. Too close. Closer than he'd ever been.

I raced down the steel gratings and stairs; just as I hit the bottom where I needed to release a latch to drop the bottom ladder to ground level, I heard the sound of splintering wood and cracking walls above me. I'd locked the apartment door, you see, but that was nothing to the power of a platoon of soldiers and a Knight of Ren.

So instead of dropping the ladder, I judged the distance. At least ten feet. Even if I sprained an ankle, I could still run on it. As dangerous as not being able to feel pain was, it was useful. But I couldn't get far if they realized which direction I was going. So I reached for the whispers, for the Force, and jumped.

It slowed my descent, enough so I wasn't injured but not enough that I didn't hit the ground with a resounding oomph. But I didn't stay around to see if anyone heard it or was coming; I took off running down the streets, as far away from the outpost and any reinforcements that could be called in.

I felt uncontrollable rage, white hot like that flames that never pained me, exploding behind me.

I kept running, willing my legs to go faster and faster. There was a transport to the capitol at the end of town. If I could reach it, if Lord Ren hadn't thought to shut down transit out of the city before leaving the base, if the cameras in the interrogation rooms were grainy enough, if I changed my hair color and blended in more, if if if-

So many things could go wrong. And though my lungs screamed for more air - it was a strange thing, to feel the prickly need to breathe without the burning pain everyone told me should happen when you run when out of shape - I tried to take deep, calming breaths. Pull myself inwards. Pull inwards and dissipate into the surroundings. There's no Force-sensitive people in the outpost save the Knight of Ren. No one at all. Just the background power of the world and life itself.

I turned left, then right, then forward. I could feel the presence still, dark and wrathful behind me. There was more distance between us now, but he was gaining. Like a dark storm cloud only I could see, the power of him was closing in on me. I felt his fingers, trying to prod into my mind. Trying to cripple me with pain from a distance, trying to urge me to lash out and give myself away with the screaming.

I almost smiled as I reached the transport. That was probably Lord Kylo Ren's first plan in a normal situation; cause pain and simply rip out the information needed, like a bull in a china shop. But it doesn't work when the prey can't feel the pain offered.

"Imperial Credit chip, please," The bored officer manning the ticket booth said. I flashed him mine, and thank the stars it was taken without a problem. They hadn't frozen my accounts first either, or stopped the transport. Lord Kylo Ren must have gone straight to the apartment, without forethought to shut down any escape beforehand. Maybe he'd felt my presence in the dream anyway, and panicked. Do Sith Lords ever panic?

The officer handed me a plastic ticket and I went to the transport. My luck held, because it was due to depart in five minutes. The presence drew closer, but slightly less focused. My Force was scattered, blended in. He could feel it everywhere, and he couldn't track it.

I stopped at the closest teller machine to the transport terminal. I didn't have much money saved up, but I didn't waste money either. I had enough to use in the capitol. Set myself up for a few more days at least while I tried to figure out what to do. But that wouldn't be the case if the First Order froze my accounts. So I withdrew everything, all at once, into multiple smaller credit chips. They didn't bear my account name now, and were as if plain currency of any other system.

"Last call for transport to Vrunsa."

That was my transport. The presence was even closer now. It clawed at my throat, fingers on either side squeezing in a promise of what would happen if I got caught. But I wasn't afraid. It's not like the First Order could torture me.

I stepped on the transport just before it's doors closed. Found a seat just as my body jolted from the vertical take-off. I was in the air, leaving Hallaport behind with nothing but a backpack of supplies and in my pajamas. I probably wouldn't be able to go back, either. So I slumped down in my seat as the presence grew to a crescendo. All a twisted tangle of rage, powerful and uncontrolled. So high a fever pitch it reached, that I leaned forward slightly and clutched at my chest. It didn't hurt, no no that wasn't it. I felt... empathy. Sadness for the the Lord of the Sith. Because, hidden deep in the rage of the presence I flew away from, was a mix of sadness and fear. Regret. Small, almost infinitesimal, but it was there.

If this was how strong and dark and angry his presence was from this far away, I never wanted find out how Kylo Ren was in person.

Author's Note: Writing all these cat-and-mouse scenes is so much freakin' fun, y'all xD

Review Replies:

Tlgrimm: Thanks so much! I try really hard to make my OCs believable, because I know that OC stories get a LOT of hate online. I use fanfic as writing practice for my original stories, so I always just felt better in writing OC stories than other ones xD