Sorry for the wait everyone! It's been a busy and turbulent new year with some writers block sprinkled in because it's been awesome like that. Here is another chapter, and I hope to have more to come soon both with this project and others including some new things I've been working on that have yet to be published. Stay well and take care of yourselves 3

...

Much time had passed since master Yoda had tasked Quinlan Vos with the investigation of Obi-wan's disappearance. And with each passing week that added to the months that he had been missing, Vos's work seemed to take him more and more into the darkness. He found it ever increasingly difficult to separate himself from that darkness, as he was forced to mingle and co-exist with terribly debauched beings along with the most despicable characters the lower levels of Coruscant had to offer.

But it hadn't started out that way, and surely master Yoda had never intended the job to evolve in such a manner. But it was a task of necessity even the elder Jedi master had to agree. A task that Vos had been willing to take on and one he would not be turned away from as he got closer and closer to his objective.

Because when he had felt inside Obi-wan's empty apartment, he felt the void of where Qui-gon should have been. When he followed the trail outside into the streets and alleys of the planet he felt even more things amiss. When Vos had happened across the dead force restraint merchant with an anklet in his possession that was unmistakably attached to Obi-wan, he knew that he was in dire trouble. Even worse was the idea that Qui-gon must have been the one to endow him with it. Still master Yoda required more. They needed proof, something that would stand up in the court of law.

So Vos took the opportunity of the black market vacuum that had been created by the merchant's death and inserted himself in his place. The underworld had been less than eager to accept him in the beginning. Though as time had passed he came to develop a reputation for himself as a cold and ruthless black market dealer. Along with it came the repertoire he required to investigate effectively.

With his ever growing credibility in the underworld master Yoda's concerns grew with it. How far would Vos go to chase down Obi-wan? Would he even trade his own light, taint it with the dark for the sake of uncovering the truth?

Yoda's concerns were understandable and Vos did take them to heart. But he had to keep on. He couldn't give up, now. And in spite of his protests master Yoda couldn't bring himself to halt the investigation either.

One thing that Vos took solace in was the fact that he never enjoyed it; the trading of souls that he had often become party to. Somehow that had to speak to his own light. That even if only silently, he hated such darkness. The worst of all was when clients would bring him their force sensitive slaves to be custom fitted with force restraints or implants.

Living isolated in the temple Vos would have never dreamed of so many force sensitives being sold and traded. Though in the underworld just one force sensitive soul was a goldmine, worth more than twenty maybe even fifty other souls. One of the only things that kept him sane was knowing all that everyone he traded with would be reported to the council to be put on a watch list of traffickers. That someday maybe they would be brought to justice.

It did little to soothe the ache in his soul that manifested as he helped enable the slime who lorded over other beings, calling them property. All he could think every time the next slaver came to him was that maybe this time he would find Obi-wan. Though he had never been so lucky.

But as he watched and listened from his place in the underworld there was always talk of the Black Sun syndicate and the Jedi they had in their possession. For a while Vos had written it off as a marketing tactic. Surely they could call any force sensitive a Jedi. Put a force restraint on them and anyone else would never know the difference.

Though he wasn't about to let the lead go unexplored. Even though he doubted the credibility of what he was hearing he was obligated to look into it. So Vos began probing his clientele, asking around if anyone had ever seen this supposed Jedi slave. For the first few months not many others knew much of it either.

It wasn't soon after that when he began to hear the slavers start talking of the Jedi in captivity. Such a wild and strong thing broken down to serve others basest needs. It was an exotic market ploy to be sure, and one that had worked. Soon it had become the talk of the underworld and nearly every dark and filthy being with such appetites were desperate for an hour with him.

It was a test when Vos's own clients came to him divulging their own personal experiences with the Jedi in question. It made his stomach churn, his aura grow wrathful. It took every scrap of willpower and strength to keep himself from killing the smug horrid beings who would speak of the things they had done to the poor soul in question.

They would describe the fragile, delicate frame, pale skin and golden brown hair. Even the saber burn Obi-wan had on his left arm from a sparring session between himself and Vos when they were children. Everything had been described to him in great detail, things that made his heart burn with righteous fury as his core quaked with rage. Vos knew absolutely without a doubt that the Jedi was indeed Obi-wan Kenobi.

Vos needed a way to get in with the Black Sun syndicate. He could try to make them buy from him. If he was lucky he could get an invitation to their facility, perhaps do some custom restraint fitting of their own force sensitives in-house. For a sizable fee of course. Or better yet, in exchange for a session with the coveted Jedi. If he could swing that much he would be able to get Obi-wan out of that terrible place. He would have to hold himself back from killing every one of those terrible slavers and enablers.

Perhaps master Yoda was right. The dark was taking a toll on him. Because he did fear for his childhood friend, and he was was angry at all that had been done to him. He hated them. He wanted everyone who hurted him in such a way to die at the end of his blade. It was his own sense of justice that demanded it be so but it was also himself that resisted it. He could save Obi-wan, and that alone would be enough.

It would have to be enough.

So Vos had began putting word out, trying to get in contact with Black Sun. They had been difficult to trade with, near impossible. Syndicates like that had all of their own infrastructure and wanted for nothing. If you had something they wanted they took it, and handed out whatever fee they deemed fair. It was nearly impossible to come at them from a mercantile angle. Instead Vos drummed up enough credits to get himself inside. It took a few weeks of careful credit management but he eventually had paid his way.

So Vos sat in the seediest bar in perhaps all of Coruscant carefully tucked back in a corner as he waited for his contact. They had insisted he pay the entry fee up front, but he refused. He would only hand the credits over to his escort, not some random courrier who might run off with his money and leave him with nothing to show for it. He had to stay true to his profile, he couldn't compromise his reputation. Not yet. Not until he had Obi-wan in hand and he was ready to slice his way out of whatever compound he was being held in.

Though as the hour grew late, he had just about given up when a light green skinned Twi'lek shroud in a black cloak came and sat across from him at his table. Her eyes were dull, speaking to the heavy drugs they used to sedate and manage her, to keep her compliant. Vos's anger grew, but he steadied it.

"Jaq Hett?" the Twi'lek asked, voicing Vos's alias he had been working under for the past six months.

Vos grunted. "I was beginning to think I'd been forgotten." He said, sitting back from his slumped position.

"If you are ready to submit payment, I would be happy to escort you now." The woman said in a vacant yet pleasant voice, her eyes glazed over listlessly.

Vos's eyes darted back and forth anxiously before he handed her over the bag of credits. "Wonderful, now follow me," she said as she floated up from her chair and moved for a door that lead deeper into the establishment.

Vos followed her through many different rooms full of drinking and drunk bar patrons, loud music and dancing women of all races and species, all of them barely clad if clothed at all. Eventually they reached a door that led into a silent corridor, one that was well lit and scrubbed clean. At the end of the hall was another door. This one made of thick durasteel with a screen imbedded near the top of it.

The Twi'lek pressed a button near to the side of the door, and the screen came to life revealing a fancily dressed man with well groomed facial hair curling at the sides of his face. "Jaq Hett presenting for entry, my Lord. Payment has been received."

The man nodded as the door clicked open, beginning to mechanically open on its hinges. "The master will see you now," the Twi'lek said, giving a short bow. "I hope you enjoy your visit, Mr. Hett."

….

Consciousness proved to be fleeting and equally elusive for Obi-wan as Qui-gon traversed various hyperspace lanes seamlessly with all the skill of a seasoned pilot. At the very least Qui-gon was that much, among other things mostly sinister in nature.

In Obi-wan's drugged and absent state it was difficult, nearly impossible to keep a hold on the moment for the imminent danger that he was sure to face. The inhibitor that still coursed through his veins dulled him in many ways, draining him past the point of acute exhaustion. His body had practically shut itself off with his need for sleep and rest being more dire and pressing than anything else.

Though he did try to fight it, in the few glimpses of consciousness he was allowed between his febrile lapses. It did little to help him maintain any sort of grip on the moment. All he could see in those sparse seconds were the lines of starlight flooding through the viewport as they continued on towards whatever misery his master had planned for him.

And it arrived all too soon, as Qui-gon shook Obi-wan's shoulder until he was roused to the highest level of alertness he could muster. Past squinted eyes pained by the stimulus and bright fluorescent lights outside the viewport, Obi-wan took in the sights to help gain his bearings. From the look of the buildings and low life that milled around every which way he thought they might have landed on Nar Shaddaa. Though Obi-wan didn't dare ask.

Clearly Qui-gon didn't have much patience for Obi-wan's sluggishness. Roughly, he gave Obi-wan a shove forward nearly throwing him from the co-pilot's chair. "Get that thing zipped up, we're going landside." He ordered gruffly.

Quickly Obi-wan tried desperately to comply knowing it never wise to defy the man, especially now. Though he couldn't get his fingers to pinch around the zipper pull the way he needed to gain any sort of purchase on it. Every time he tried to grasp the small metal tab it slipped right through his grip as if his hands were made out of lead. Even through his exhaustion he could feel his pulse quicken. He didn't need the force to feel the anger that roared around his Master's aura.

Qui-gon gave an exasperated sigh at Obi-wan's fumbling and quickly strode over to pull it closed himself. The quick movement made Obi-wan flinch. He was thoroughly surprised when he hadn't been met with violence as he had expected. Surely he wasn't getting off the hook so easily after defying his Master in such a terrible way.

After making quick work of zipping up Obi-wan's greased fatigues, he headed out towards the ramp of the vessel. "Follow me," he commanded in a grim monotone. The sound of his voice held the promise of pain, of things he didn't want to think about.

But he had made his choices. He couldn't disobey his Master anymore. Not without facing even more grave consequences, the likes of which he couldn't even fathom if he tried. He got to his feet with every muscle and fiber of his body straining and aching as he did. Faithfully, he followed his Master. There was nothing else he could do.

So Obi-wan followed his Master through the back alleys of the dark and shady businesses for an indistinguishable amount of time. With each block and turn Obi-wan found his body failing him. Or was it that somehow the ground had just become unpredictably unstable? Either way he had tumbled more times than he could keep track of, skinning his knees through the thin fabric of his mechanic fatigues until the red of his blood began to steep through. The heels of his hands had become equally torn and ripped by the rough duracrete below.

But he knew he couldn't stop now. He had to keep going. He could see it in his Master's eyes every time he dared to look in the man's direction. In his own eyes he could feel the manifestation of the helplessness and hopelessness that he felt consume his heart. Not that it would soften his Master's resolve to make him suffer. But perhaps it would earn him even the slightest of reprieve when the time came. There was no way to tell, and Obi-wan was too fearful to give much hope to the prospect.

But again and again, his feet refused to cooperate and his body took more effort to move than he had to give until he found himself crashing to the rocky surface below again, without the ability to hoist himself up. He was afraid to look up at his Master as the man walked over to where he lie, struggling against the gravity that pressed against him with force that seemed to be stronger than he remembered only moments ago.

But he tried still, groaning and heaving as he fought his body's exhaustion in vain. He wanted to tell his Master how sorry he was, how he was trying. But even his voice refused to cooperate.

Then Qui-gon reached down and pulled his body into his arms, hoisting Obi-wan up with little to no effort. Obi-wan couldn't see his Master's face but he was sure he was better off not seeing the turbid expression that was sure to have been resting there. It was a common mask for Qui-gon to hide behind, one that kept most people guessing as to what lie beneath.

But Obi-wan knew what brewed in his Master's aura even though he didn't have the force to sense it. It was written in stone. Or rather, determined by the thoughtless actions and decisions Obi-wan had made of late. Behind the placid exterior lie a turbulent sea of anger and wrath, all for him and him alone.

But still his Master carried him through the darkened streets and alleys. Obi-wan was afraid to let himself feel comforted by the way the man took him up in his arms gently. He knew they were headed towards something terrible. The obscurity of what it was only made it worse.

But he clenched his eyes shut, not wanting to see where they were going. He could hear the sounds of the city surround them as they headed deeper into its core. Obi-wan could hear the ambiance change as they went out into a busier street and then into a building.

The door clanged as they entered. The room was quiet. He could see fluorescent lights steep through his eyelids. There was the scent of cheap perfume and dusty upholstery. Then there was the clacking of keys being pressed, the beep and chirp of computers. Still, he was too afraid to look around.

"One room, please." Qui-gon said, his voice laden with heavy bass reverberating through Obi-wan's body. He cursed it for how comforting it was, and how terrified it made him feel.

"Here you go dear, that will be twenty credits. And I'll need your name and details on this form right here." A voice sounded out, rich and accented yet coarse. A rugged feminine voice that had been weathered by several years of underworld life.

The clanking of credits hitting the counter filled the room before an eerie stillness. Then, that deep voice again. "You can keep the extra credits. You don't need my name or details." Qui-gon's voice sounded out in his suggestive cadence.

"I'll keep the extra credits. I don't need your name or details." The woman chanted. "Room 309, on the third floor up. Here's your key card." She added, slightly confused.

With a acquiescent grunt, Qui-gon moved his arm that held Obi-wan's legs and took the card in hand. Then they turned to climb the stairs up into the suites above until they reached the third floor. Holding onto each moment as if he could make time stop with his efforts, Obi-wan counted each step. There were thirty six steps total before they came to a stop.

Obi-wan could feel his chest restrict and his heart beat faster as they stood at the door. Qui-gon slid the card through the reader and unlocked the door without a word. The sharp smell of citrus cleaner assaulted his senses as the door closed behind them. Still, Obi-wan didn't open his eyes. Maybe if he could keep them shut none of this would exist. It would just be a bad dream.

But finally Qui-gon laid Obi-wan down on the sleeper and set the key card down on the table across the room. Hesitantly Obi-wan's eyes blinked open. He could see the sparse furnishings of the cheap hotel room, the old carpet of the floor that had been worn down to the threads and the stains that had steeped into them.

He could see his Master's boots step towards him, as Qui-gon came to sit beside him on the sleeper. Obi-wan forced his tired body to sit up against the headboard, wriggling over to sit at the far edge as far as he could get away from his Master who looked over at him with an empty stare. It took every ounce of strength he had to move away from the man, to stay on guard.

So Obi-wan looked over to Qui-gon as his chest restricted, just barely daring to look at the man's face, at his serene expression. Obi-wan shuddered. He wanted to shrink away, to curl up and hide but he didn't dare take his eyes off him. He was prey, cornered by the predator. Paralyzed by his fears. Waiting for the worst.

Qui-gon came closer, shifting his body on the sleeper to sit beside Obi-wan. Gently he reached out, tracing a scratch on Obi-wan's cheek as he studied it with interest. Obi-wan's breath faltered, not willing to take his eyes off the man that came too close.

"You disobeyed me, Obi-wan," Qui-gon said calmly, casting damnation in his gentleness.

Obi-wan couldn't breathe. "I-I'm sorry," he stammered, entranced and ensnared by his Master's intense stare. "I shouldn't have disobeyed you… It was stupid, so stupid. Please Master, have mercy," he begged through his taut vocal chords, fearful tears welling in his desperate eyes.

Typically Obi-wan would have felt the violence in his Master's aura, his dark thoughts taking form. Without access to the force he was blinded. He could see his master leaning in over him, his feigned sweetness manifesting with gentle touches. He knew beneath it was the seething man that had hurt him before. That would certainly hurt him again. But the only thing that he could really feel was his own unrelenting fear.

"Tell me, what use are you to me if you don't obey my commands? What am I to do with a disobedient padawan?" Qui-gon asked rhetorically, his lurid stare piercing right through Obi-wan's tortured heart.

Obi-wan gasped, blinking away tears from his vision. "I'm sorry Master, please forgive me," Obi-wan begged again, his eyes filled with all the regret and sorrow that he would never be able to express.

But in the face of his petition, Qui-gon's eyes turned cold, all the empty kindness bleeding out of them until there was only the raw anger left shining back in them. "You did nothing but push your bounds ever since I arrived to rescue you and your precious new friend." Qui-gon bit out harshly, sounding even slightly scorned.

What was it, jealousy? Certainly not. Not that it mattered. Obi-wan should have never disobeyed, he cursed himself for every terrible decision he made that brought them here. If only they could have been locked inside that sweet moment forever, where Qui-gon held him and kissed him and had given him a taste of what he thought was love.

It was never love. It was always about what Qui-gon wanted. But he would go back to that moment and relive it forever if he could. The one time in his life he felt truly wanted, truly cared for. Even if it was an illusion, it was the sweetest one there ever had been.

But for how sweet and wonderful things could be they could be just as awful. Just like now, as Obi-wan waited through the prelude to something he dared not think of. Something he would have never imagined.

Obi-wan had to remind himself to breathe in his panic. His head was already spinning from a lack of oxygen. It was difficult to breathe when his master stared back at him with such dark intent, none of it hidden any longer. The sneer on the man's lips told of his disgust, loathing, discontentment.

"I-I'm so sorry Master, I'll be better I promise. I-I'll never disobey you ever again," Obi-wan cried as his voice cracked, a few rogue sobs escaping him as his core trembled.

But it wasn't good enough, his Master still wasn't pleased. The intensifying anger in Qui-gon's expression made his stomach twist with fear and exhaustion. Much to his frustration and helplessness, the inhibitor was getting the best of him as he felt his back sag against the headboard and mattress.

But then Qui-gon's face went soft again, and he spoke out in a soothing voice. "You betrayed me, Obi-wan. How can I trust you?" He said, his eyes boring into Obi-wan's glossy tear stained gaze. Obi-wan could feel his Master's presence probing into his mind, into the core of his being as if to search out a truth he didn't already know.

Obi-wan gasped as the pressure inside his skull worsened, becoming sharp and searing. He gritted his teeth against the pain, not trying to resist his Master's probing. He couldn't even if he wanted to, even if he had access to the force. His Master was so much more powerful than he was. He would always be.

Then just as suddenly his Master retracted from his mind. His gaze had grown unresponsive and monotone. Obi-wan could see resolve in those eyes, something terrible and wicked glinting from within. He knew if he could feel through the force, he would sense the imminent violence like static in the air.

"Please Master," Obi-wan cried as Qui-gon came closer.

With delicate care Qui-gon wiped the tears out of Obi-wan's eyes and leaned in close. "I could kill you right now, and no one would ever suspect a thing." He whispered sweetly, his lips grazing Obi-wan's ear as he spoke.

A bolt of panic lanced through Obi-wan's unresponsive body as Qui-gon withdrew a hooked knife from the folds of his tunic. Gently he placed it under Obi-wan's chin, pressing ever so slightly against his skin.

"No, please," Obi-wan whispered, clenching his eyes shut as tears rolled down his cheeks. The point of the blade dug into his skin near the point of breaking, but not quite. Obi-wan could hear his heart pounding in his ears, overlaying his Master's voice.

"Do you know what they would say when they found your body?" Qui-gon asked softly, still whispering softly as he nuzzled against the side of his face. "Poor Obi-wan, run away from his Master only to be drugged, beaten, cut up, raped and killed in some dirty hotel room on Nar Shaddaa. Not even his lightsaber to defend himself. Oh the poor boy, how he must have suffered. How terrible."

No stop I don't want to remember...

"No I'm sorry master, please," Obi-wan gasped out. "Please don't-" he cried, cursing the weakness in his limbs and all of the terrible decisions he had made. Qui-gon pressed harder, drawing a small trickle of blood from under his chin.

"When i'm done with you, if I decide to let you live, you'll never disobey me again. Not just because i've commanded it, but because you'll know what might happen if you do." Qui-gon growled.

Obi-wan didn't have anymore words left to contend with, not that he had any to begin with other than his frantic desperate pleas for his Master to forgive or show mercy. Every part of his trembling, terrified core retreated and froze. Every part of him that wanted to beg and promise and entreat was silenced, especially as his master turned the blade down to hook over the top of his jumper and slashed down through the fabric along with several layers of his skin.

I'm not there anymore, it's over now, it's over…

Obi-wan tensed, writhed and cried out as the blade broke the skin of his chest and abdomen, spilling red out onto his pale skin and the stiff bleach white sheets beneath his body. Qui-gon slashed and ripped at the garment until he lie naked and bleeding on the sleeper below him. The only thing left to adorn him was the cursed braid that fell over his bloodied shoulder.

Qui-gon ran his hand down Obi-wan's flank as he shivered from the cold air that assaulted his skin, from the terror and shock that had settled in as a veil over his senses making everything feel deadened and distant. Then Qui-gon grabbed his shoulders and pinned him face down.

Obi-wan trembled, letting out silenced sobbs as his body shook with fear. He could feel his Master run the knife over the length of his back, drawing small red lines. Then the knife paused at his side, digging aggressively into his flesh. Reactively, Obi-wan cried out in pain.

Just as quickly, Qui-gon reached around to clamp his hand over Obi-wan's mouth as he moved the blade to rest against his throat. "If you want to live, you'll be silent," Qui-gon growled as he hastily unsheathed himself from his leggings before he forced himself on his padawan, like so many times before.

I want to wake up…

The pain of it was dreadfully familiar, but different at the same time. For all the ways his master had hurt him before, never had he ever been so afraid. Inside himself, his heart turned to ash and his blood to acid as he put all effort on being as quiet as he could. Because any stifled cry or scream could be his last.

He understood now, he could feel the truth of it. How he was just a possession to his Master. A thing with a purpose. If he couldn't serve to his Master's liking, he would be disposed of. Replaced. Obi-wan had hoped that perhaps they might have been able to find love or some semblance of it at least. How wrong he was to ever think such a thing.

Obi-wan didn't belong to himself. Every part of him belonged to his Master. Qui-gon made sure it was so. Even now as Qui-gon used his body his Master reached deep inside of his mind, touching every part of him that Obi-wan never wanted him to feel, hearing every desperate thought that was never meant for him. All of the shameful desires and emotions he kept locked away were on display to the man who ravaged him in all ways- body, mind and soul.

Qui-gon chuckled darkly, his voice rapt with pleasure and labored from exertion. "I don't want you to love me. I want you to obey me."

And then- No, no I don't want to remember...

Qui-gon pulled the knife- No please wake up, I want to wake up…

There was a sharp pain, searing and overwhelming. It hurt so much, but it's over now. I'm not there, i'm not-

Obi-wan cried out, though he had tried so hard to be quiet like his master had commanded. But Qui-gon didn't stop it hurt so much… No, no no no, "NO!" Obi-wan cried out, his eyes going wide as he jolted awake.

Frantically while still gasping for air he scanned the room around him. It took a moment for him to remember where he was as the echo of that horrible night drained from his senses. Though he could still remember how it felt as his Master tore into his flesh, how not a single word could describe the raw terror that filled his soul.

But that was over, and he was more than ready to let himself forget it again. It was too much to remember, too much to deal with. It was so much easier to let it slip back into the mental vault of things deemed too wretched or terrible to think about. Just letting himself remember it at all evoked something that felt even worse than living it out. It was another strange emotion he couldn't quite put a word to. But that could go away too, for now.

Because he had much more pressing concerns to deal with. Through the fog that bogged down his mental faculties he trudged and pushed until he could recall the circumstance he found himself in, in its entirety. His reality was depressing perhaps even hopeless. But he still held one purpose.

Anakin.

Obi-wan's heart broke. How was he to reach the boy, to make sure he was alright? To kill anyone who might have hurt him? He seemed to be in just as much need of rescue himself. Though his situation had indeed improved. He wasn't chained to a duracrete slab anymore. Though all the same he was trapped, his access to the force severed perhaps by a drug or an implant. His degenerating physical state only compounded his inability to defend himself with the force.

Though he wasn't about to lay there and do nothing. He needed to move, to get up. Slowly and with great effort Obi-wan forced himself into an upright position. The exertion alone had him feeling shaky and sweaty, even nauseous. Or was that perhaps the withdrawal setting in?

Looking down to study his arms he could see numerous track marks down the branches of his veins. It was the sickening evidence of all the times they had drugged him against his will. Each pock mark perhaps counting one or more individuals who climbed on top of him and used his unconscious body.

Obi-wan fought tears, refusing to cry or succumb to how desecrated he truly felt. Feeling sorry for himself wasn't going to get him out of this prison. It wasn't going to bring strength back to his body, or the light of the force back into his soul. He was going to have to get up. So he did. Shakily he set one foot at a time on the floor below and forced himself to walk the perimeter of the room.

Between each forced step that took nearly all of his energy to muster, Obi-wan fought off the thoughts that rose up. Desperate horrible thoughts that would easily capsize any effort to escape if he let them. Things like how long he might have been unconscious for. How long Anakin had been left in the care of that monster he called Master.

The salty sting of tears hit his eyes as he thought of the young boy as he hoped and prayed Qui-gon hadn't laid a hand on him. Obi-wan didn't think he could live with himself if he did. Though Qui-gon had told him as much, had threatened to take out his lecherous desires on that poor boy. If he had ever laid a hand on Anakin Obi-wan was ready to kill the man out of pure vengeance, then kill himself afterwards for the part he would have played. If only he had just accepted his lot then none of this would ever have happened.

Now in addition to the possibility of Anakin being harmed so dreadfully in ways that could never be made right, he had suffered as well. Instead of enduring his Master he had been used by countless others instead. Somehow it seemed worse. The hands that had touched him, held him in ways that he had never wanted, felt him in places he never wanted anyone to feel, had wounded him mercilessly. Those strangers never held a thought to place marks in concealed places like Qui-gon had. They had never thought once to his own pleasure or wellbeing.

Deep in the throes of self pity and remorse Obi-wan stopped. He didn't think he could move another step. Just the thought of putting forth any more effort felt impossible. He felt his hand press against the duracrete slab wall of his med room, the gritted texture that grabbed the skin of his palm as he shifted his weight. He wanted to let go, let himself fall to the ground. If he was lucky perhaps he would die there. Could he will himself to pass on into peace?

Peace.

There was no emotion, there was peace.

Obi-wan wished he could truly believe that, but he wasn't convinced there would ever be such a thing for him. Maybe peace existed for others and he most certainly hoped it was so. Perhaps in death there might be peace, but there was no death only the force. Somehow the prospect made passing on feel like another prison where he might be haunted by all his shortcomings for the rest of eternity. Though it couldn't be likened to hell, which he was sure he must have been living out in the present. It would be an everlasting purgatory for him to exist in his regrets for the rest of time, until the end of the universe. He would be forced to bear witness to Anakin's mistreatment and abuse while not being able to do a thing about it.

That was unacceptable.

Obi-wan forced himself to focus. He couldn't afford to give up now. Anakin depended on him. He had to be sure the boy was safe. It may have seemed like a hopeless situation and his soul might have been tattered and frayed but he had to press on. Not for the sake of his own honor, not for the sake of vengeance. Not his own anyhow. But for Anakin. He owed it to him to at least try. Try or die trying.

Choking on tears he wouldn't allow himself Obi-wan put another foot forward and kept on, circling the perimeter of the room. He emptied his mind as best he could and made four rotations before he collapsed on the med table. He let himself rest a few minutes before he forced himself up to make a few more rounds. He repeated the same routine over and over until an indistinguishable amount of time had passed.

Between staving off the hopelessness that constantly threatened to overtake his will and the enormous effort it took to just keep himself moving, Obi-wan hadn't lent much thought as to why they didn't have him turning out a profit for when the most part he wasn't injured. At least not critically. Judging from how weak he had become keeping him in good health hadn't been a priority for the management. While he did have a handful of healing scars that still looked fresh, he had most certainly been worse for wear. When he had woken up the first time he had felt various bruises and injuries all over his body from head to toe.

The implications of his current situation might have been obvious but Obi-wan was far from the correct mindset to be judging such things, mind fog aside. Just his disorientation with what year it was had him feeling out of place and unsure. That among other more obvious things such as being in such a terrible place to begin with. But something inside of himself told him he might be on his way out of that place. To somewhere better or worse, he had no idea.

Just before Obi-wan was about to take another walk around the perimeter of the room he heard footsteps approaching. His stomach dropped as his heart raced. They weren't going to take him back into that horrible room where all those people could do horrible, terrible things to him. He wanted to die first.

But when the door reeled back on the track a hooded figure stepped forwards. The man's face was concealed. He wore the robes of a Jedi but darker. Obi-wan wished he could access the force to feel out whether this being meant to help or harm. Judging by the way they had strolled in so easily Obi-wan instinctively felt the man was there to harm. Why else did anyone visit him in this place?

Obi-wan sat in his terrified state unknowing of what might happen to him. Even amidst his determination to escape he had become too jaded to believe anyone was ever coming to his rescue. Or that anyone even cared at all.

"Obi-wan Kenobi," the man proclaimed, his voice tainted with curiosity and interest.

His voice sounded familiar. Obi-wan knew he had heard it somewhere. If only the mind fog were any less dense he might have been able to place it.

"I've come to take you away from this place." The man spoke again, his words denoting a measure of authority and finality.

Obi-wan's heart dropped even further as his mind raced with panic. He must have been sold off, that's what this was. Perhaps the man standing before him had been a patron of the facility. Someone who had tasted him before. Someone who was pleased enough by the product to purchase him outright.

Obi-wan retreated on the med table pressing his back up against the wall as if it would save him from any assault or ill will the man before him might have harbored. He didn't even know if this man had been inside of him, as so many others had. The thought twisted his stomach into knots as his heart crumbled into ash.

The man stepped further into the room. Obi-wan thought to say something but couldn't make a sound.

"There's no need to be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you." The figure said in a voice mixed with amusement and assertion.

His words hit Obi-wan hard as he found himself suddenly gasping for air. Was it relief? No, he wasn't quite ready to believe the mystery arrival even though he desperately wanted to. It couldn't be true.

The man stepped closer and Obi-wan flattened himself against the wall, wishing and hoping like he had in times past for the ability to escape. A gloss of fearful tears blurred his vision as he waited for something terrible.

But nothing terrible happened.

The man held out his hand keeping a respectful distance from Obi-wan. "Come now, on your feet." The man said expectantly waiting for Obi-wan to let his guard down and accept help. "Unless you wish to stay and return to your work here?"

Without a word of question or protest, Obi-wan shifted to the edge of the med table hesitantly, careful to avoid the hand he had been offered while righting himself to stand. Leaving would present opportunities to escape and return to the council. Any action would be better than none, even if he didn't trust the one who posed as rescuer.

Shakily due to exhaustion mixed with elevated cortisol levels Obi-wan tried and failed to walk more than two steps before collapsing. He had become so tired from walking the perimeter of the room that he had no more energy left to spend.

Quickly the hooded man moved in to help Obi-wan. But instead of getting him back on his feet he took him up in his arms. "Your strength should return soon enough after that poison they've been giving you is out of your system." The man said as he quickly whisked him away.

Obi-wan didn't like accepting help, especially not anything so physical in nature from someone he still knew nothing about. But he found himself having little to say or offer in the exchange.

Quickly the mysterious stranger had arrived at a shuttle. Presumably his own private transport. As soon as the two of them stepped aboard the pilot engaged the lifters. The haste of their departure made Obi-wan wonder to the legitimacy of his escape. Had he been sold, or stolen? Either way made little difference. He was still bound and determined to get to the council one way or another.

The hooded man set Obi-wan down onto a seat and positioned himself across. "Why are you helping me?" Obi-wan croaked out, still afraid and mistrusting.

"We can leave the questions for later. You won't remember half of what we talk about anyways until that junk is out of your system. Though in the meantime," the man trailed off, searching through the folds of his cloak to retrieve a small metallic patch. "I'll just put this here for good measure," he said, planting it on the side of Obi-wan's neck.

Seconds later Obi-wan felt an odd sensation. A warmth radiated from the spot the man had placed the patch, along with a slight tickle. Confused and still disoriented by the brain fog Obi-wan put his hand where the patch ought to have been. All he felt was his own skin.

"What was that? What did you just do?" Obi-wan asked as he felt another bout of panic lance through his tattered frame.

"What are you talking about?" The man said incredulously. "I didn't do anything. Obi-wan, you're very tired. Why don't you go to sleep now?"

Suddenly and without reason, Obi-wan felt like that was very good idea. "I'm going… to sleep… now…" Obi-wan echoed back as he slumped over, his vision going dark.

In the next moment or what seemed like it, the stranger was rousing him to wake. "Obi-wan, it's time for us to switch modes of transportation. Up go you, follow me." The man said as he stepped out of the transport and onto an aerial platform on the upper most level or Coruscant.

Obi-wan turned to the direction of the temple. He could see the spires rising up in the near distance. His heart ached thinking Anakin might only be just out of reach. If only Master Yoda could hear his cry through the force. But he couldn't feel the force like he usually would. He hadn't been able to ever since Qui-gon had captured him in his escape attempt. His hopes and pleas were empty without the force to amplify them.

"Hurry on, let's get going." The man said, waving after Obi-wan as he stumbled closer after him. Obi-wan's heart filled with sadness. Though he vowed he would be back soon.

"Where are you taking me?" Obi-wan said groggily, though loud enough for his voice to be heard over the sound of traffic as he followed after the man towards a small starship transport parked in the distance.

"I'm taking you away from here. We can talk more later, time is of the essence, as they say." The man said briskly as he strode towards the ship. This time as Obi-wan moved in pursuit he could feel the weakness in his body lessen, his strength slowly return.

The two of them boarded the small ship as it took flight shortly after. The inside of the vessel wasn't fancy though it wasn't plain either. The furnishings spoke of moderate wealth though nothing overly substantial. The hooded man sat in the small flight passenger seating area looking out at the scene unfolding beyond the viewport. He motioned Obi-wan to come over and do the same.

Though he still didn't trust the man, Obi-wan did as was suggested. They sat in silence as the ship rose up into the atmosphere towards a larger vessel. It was what appeared to be a sizable yacht. As they approached the small hangar bay and touched down Obi-wan could tell just by the look of the hangar that this ship was much more lavish than the one they were currently in. Everything about it screamed insane wealth, more than entire planets held.

"We've arrived," the man announced as he got up, walking towards the exit of the small transport into the larger vessel.

"Now if you follow me, you'll find a shower and sleeper waiting for you." He said as he exited the hangar, stepping aboard a hallway full of doors. Stopping at one, he keyed a code into the small pad beside it and it opened silently. Lights flickered on in the room as they stepped inside.

For how the yacht looked it was nothing too extreme, though it was very accomodating. The sleeper was large, the floor was carpeted with thick plush rugs. The upholstery and bedspread were lavish in texture, though the colors were dark red and black. Not at all to Obi-wan's liking. But he couldn't complain about a hot shower and a warm bed even if he was still suspicious of the man.

"I'll leave you to it, then. Go ahead and get showered and rested. We'll talk later." The man said as he retreated, the door closing behind him. Obi-wan nearly couldn't believe it as he looked about the room. So much had gone so wrong. For him to be whisked away by this stranger was absolutely out of the norm for him. No one had ever gone out of their way to help or save him without expecting something in return.

Though Obi-wan was nearly certain the man would expect something in return soon enough. For now he would be able to put it out of mind. The promise of such simple creature comforts were more than enough to make him forget about everything else just for a moment.

Obi-wan ventured over to the fresher attached to the dwelling and tore off his paper med gown. The feeling of being unclothed was uncomfortable, making his very core clench with dread. Though as he switched on the hot water and stepped into the shower his aversion lessened.

It was wonderful, such a simple thing. Obi-wan stood in it and let the hot water scald his skin bringing circulation to the surface. Soap, such a wonderful invention. To smell of something other than the dinge and dirt of the facility he had just escaped from helped ease his restless spirit by a fraction.

Obi-wan felt renewed as he stepped out onto the plush rug and sat on the sleeper. He was clean in a warm and comfortable bed. He had every reason to be grateful.

Or at least he should have felt grateful. But in that moment of silence all he could feel was the anguish. The guilt. He shouldn't be enjoying anything not even such simple allowances as a shower a warm bed. His mind was racked with regrets both old and new. The horror he had been so ready to reject and forget, the one he hadn't allowed himself to think about for years now to be so violently rehashed. It was like a stain on his consciousness he couldn't erase.

How terribly he had disobeyed his master before. How dearly he had paid for it. Though apparently he hadn't learned his lesson. In his new knighthood he thought he could save himself.

He didn't know what was worse, the thought of what had happened to him during his time at the last facility, or what had happened all those years ago. But his old trauma now suddenly seemed so fresh. The pain of it still echoed through his body, the memory of fearing for his life was foreign and somehow tormentingly familiar. It was only that he wanted to forget, but he couldn't. How could he forget the feeling of certainty about one's own mortality? The imminence of one's own death?

He could still remember waking up in the halls of healing so many months after that horrible night on Nar Shaddaa. For a moment he didn't believe he survived. His eyes blinked open to see one of the healers peering down at him with a sad yet happy smile.

"Welcome back, Obi-wan," the woman said with genuine gladness. "We've been wondering when you would come back to us."

He could still recall how heavy his body felt as he sat up. How horrified and shocked he was to see his Master sitting at his bedside. Instantly his heart began to race, tears began to blur his vision.

But the healer had it all wrong. "I'll give you two a moment before the lead healer comes in. She'll want to debrief you before she gives you the go ahead to check out. I'm sure you have much catching up to do." She said, smiling with a false sense of knowing before she left Obi-wan alone with the one who had hurt him so badly.

The man who was supposed to teach him and take care of him. Qui-gon, his Master walked over to him and sat near to him. There was a look on his face, one that Obi-wan didn't think he had ever seen before. Was it sadness? Longing? It couldn't have been. Surely he didn't feel those sorts of things.

Before Qui-gon could get a word in, the lead healer walked in. Obi-wan didn't hide the tears that fell, he didn't try to wipe them away.

"Do you two need a moment?" The healer asked politely.

"No, no need. Please, come in." Qui-gon said as he sat poised on the edge of Obi-wan's med sleeper.

"Obi-wan, you were very extensively injured when your Master brought you in. You nearly didn't make it. You should be very grateful he got to you just in time. This may not be the time for a lecture, but you ought to think twice before you go off on your own again." The healer said in a gentle stern voice.

Obi-wan's core wrenched and a desperate anger roared in his belly. If only the healer knew. But they would never know. They couldn't. Because in spite of their ignorance, there was still a warning to be heeded.

Think twice before you go off on your own again.

"I don't think this is the appropriate time for such reprimands. My padawan has suffered more than enough for his mistakes." Qui-gon said defensively, placing a hand on Obi-wan's shoulder as he did.

A cacophony of emotions swirled inside of Obi-wan at the contact. Anger, shame, coupled with the soothing effect any show of kindness from his Master incited. All of it made Obi-wan hate himself that much more.

"Very well, my apologies. Anyway," the healer continued, glancing to Obi-wan's chart that they had pulled up on a datapad. "When you came in you had suffered multiple stab wounds and lacerations…" The healer began as they rattled off a long list of broken bones and internal injuries. With each addition to the list, Obi-wan felt his heart turn to acid and his body go numb.

He sat there in shock, tears freely falling down his face from the news he was receiving. His tears turned to sobs quickly as the healer finished reciting the list of terrible things. All the things his Master had done to him.

Obi-wan hugged his knees tightly to his chest to comfort himself, but it did little to help him feel any better. His master's hand that had rested on his shoulder now felt too invasive. He wanted to kick and scream and tell the healer the truth of what really happened. None of it would change a thing. It was still all his fault.

"After a routine exam, you should be fit to discharge if everything checks out." The woman followed up, visibly awkward.

"I think we'll need a minute. Why don't you come back in a little while." Qui-gon suggested gently. With a nod, the healer agreed and curtly exited the room. Leaving Obi-wan alone with his Master, again.

Qui-gon threw his arms around him and held him tightly while Obi-wan cried even harder. He was locked inside himself. He couldn't say or do anything. He was helpless. He was in his Master's care, for better or worse.

Qui-gon put his lips to his Padawan's ear and whispered softly, just as he had back in that room. "Don't make me hurt you like that again." He said simply as he ran his hand over Obi-wan's hair, down to his braid that he took in his hand.

And after that, everything changed. But really, nothing changed. Only Obi-wan had learned what he really was to his Master. He tried to keep from forming an attachment, tried to keep him distant. The hardest thing was to see the man for what he really was. Because how could he live with such a monster? How could he love him at the same time?

The answer was to blame himself. It was the only thing he knew how to do, and he did it well. But it hurt, everything hurt. He hated all of it. There was only one thing, one good thing and that was Anakin. It was his purpose to make sure no one ever hurt him. It was the only thing that mattered.

But still the pain of his past haunted him as Obi-wan found he couldn't stop the tears from overtaking him anymore. So he cried and cried, for himself, for the things he had been through. For Anakin, and the things he hoped he would never experience.

Obi-wan cried until he had exhausted himself, and drifted into a deep and dreamless sleep, void of anything that might have haunted him. A sleep that he had badly needed.

….

"Jaq!" the overdressed man announced with open arms as the thick durasteel door gave way to an overly lavish lounge on the other side. A handful of patrons mingled as they sipped on their drinks, reclining on the plush lounge chairs under the low lighting. Most of them were well disguised or partially veiled to conceal their true identities. Though already Vos had spotted a few familiar beings he knew he had seen in the senate. His stomach churned with disgust, repulsed by the high and mighty senators so willingly and enthusiastically taking advantage of the poor souls consigned to such a horrific establishment. If monsteres existed, he was sure he was surrounded by more than one in that room.

"So good to meet you. Parsifal Tyyrn, at your service." The man said, shaking Vos's hand with a firm grip. "You've created quite the reputation for yourself in a rather short amount of time I might add." He said happily as he guided Vos into the lounge. "I'm glad to finally put a face to the name!"

"Please have a drink or two, or five!" The man laughed heartily as Vos struggled to keep up with his jolly demeanor. It took every bit of self control for him not to strangle the man where he stood. But his mission depended on him playing his part. He had done just that for these past six months. He was sure he could keep on for the next hour or so, however long it took to find Obi-Wan.

"Ah no, I think i'll pass. I gave up drink a while ago." Vos chuckled, perhaps not convincingly enough.

The man's expression dimmed. "Ah, well enough I suppose. Straight to business then?"

"Yes, if you don't mind," Vos said as pleasantly as he could as Parsifal guided him down the hall on the other side of the lounge.

"Well why don't you follow me, so I can present the menu for the evening," the man said, his voice rife with sultry tones. Vos grinded his teeth, clenched his fists at his sides beneath the long sleeves of his robe. "Might I start by asking, if there is anything specific you are interested in?"

"Yes, actually," Vos said, clearing his throat. "I would have to be living under a rock not to hear about the Jedi you've been in possession of. I've found myself quite curious. I'm willing to pay extra for some time with him." He said adamantly, bolstering his words with the force.

"Yes, the Jedi. He was quite a popular feature. I'm sorry to inform you he's no longer here for us to offer. Were you only a day sooner, you would have been able to catch him before he was taken back." The man said, still walking the length of the hall as Vos trailed behind.

Inside of himself his heart raced as his mind ran wild. Obi-wan was here. Now he wasn't. He was too late. Just barely too late. "You wouldn't happen to know where he will be next, do you?" Vos said, hopefully.

"One of his owners fetched him, the identity of which i'm not at liberty to share with you, of course." The man said, stopping at one door, peering through the small window to see inside. "Though if its a force sensitive you're after we do have a few of those. This one's particularly strong. Feisty, too. Though you must understand our force sensitive stock must be kept sedated at all times to assure they don't escape. They tend to be quite slippery while awake." The man said with disdain towards the inconvenience.

"You will tell me who took the Jedi. Who are his owners?" Vos growled as he came closer, towering intimidatingly over the pathetic man in front of him. He found himself long past playing any games at this point.

"I-I can't tell you that! Now step away from me at once! Of you'll be dragged out by my staff and banned from this facility for life!" Parsifal said pitifully as he cowered.

Vos took a fist of the man's shirt and slammed his body against the wall. "You'll tell me, whether you want to or not," he said low as he closed his eyes, placing a hand at the man's temple.

Vos was immediately shocked by what was revealed to him. Everything he thought he knew, dissolved in his grasp.

"Unhand me, Sir!" Parsifal shouted, shoving Vos back causing him to stumble a few steps. "You are to leave at once unless you want to be drug out!" He commanded, his terror stricken voice gaining more vehemence as Vos retreated.

"Never come back here, understand? I don't know who you think you are, Jaq Hett, but your business on Coruscant is over. Black Sun is everywhere, and they will shut you down, mark my words." The man said as she shakily straightened out his too-expensive suit that had crumpled under Vos's grip.

Quinlan spun around heading for the exit, down the hallway that had too many doors, too many poor souls trapped inside. He wanted to save them all, to find Obi-wan. But today was not the day for it. And if he did try, his cover would be blown. Obi-wan would be gone forever. But now at least he had a lead. Something he didn't have before. Now he knew the man he had to find.