PRINCESS
By Sapadu
Part IV: Concentration
con·cen·tra·tion /ˌkɒnsənˈtreɪʃən/ Pronunciation Key - [kon-suhn-trey-shuhn
–noun
1. the strength of a solution; number of molecules of a substance in a given volume
2. the spatial property of being crowded together
3. strengthening the concentration (as of a solute in a mixture) by removing diluting material
4. increase in density
5. complete attention; intense mental effort
6. bringing together military forces
7. great and constant diligence and attention
Under a bright pink sky, Triclops marched. His feet were bare, his clothes were dirty, and his hair needed washing.
There was a smell in the air- they'd all smelt it before the doors to the hull had been opened- sickeningly sweet, and cloyingly heavy. It oppressed Triclops' senses, making him wonder exactly what that smell was.
It was a kind of choking sweetness. Triclops wondered if he'd smelt it before. The bitterness that the air left in his mouth if he breathed through there, instead of his nose... it seemed too familiar, like a kind of nut.
Triclops could see the rest who had been in the hull with him. He was the only one alone- the rest were with families, had bags, clothes, and belongings with them... Most of what Triclops saw were alien families, or supporters of the Separatists that had been shown on HoloCasts when he'd gone out with Kendalina...
There were troopers before them, each holding fierce weapons, and the eyes in their helmets glaring out, impassively.
"Leave the bags in the hull." The Commander said, gesturing to all the fellow residents that stood next to Triclops, and then a command was made in languages that Triclops didn't understand. Perhaps to address the aliens who didn't speak or understand Basic. Triclops heard a great sigh issue from all around him, but not a single, true complaint, and all of the passengers were led out of the hull with only what they wore.
What Triclops saw on the ground was a large building- instead of tall, like most buildings he'd seen, it was flattened against the ground, and covered a large portion of the flat ground it stood on. Surrounding it was a ring of posts, though their purpose seemed to be nullified, as there was no wire or gate between posts. And there was still that smell- that intoxicating smell of something offensively sweet.
On the horizon, Triclops could see high towers- mere sticks pointing upward towards the blinding sky with platforms resting on the points. He could barely make out the figures of the white uniforms of the troopers, and the pitch black of large, mean blasters that they carried. That purpose, Triclops supposed, was easy enough to guess.
"Form two straight lines." Barked the Commander again, and it was repeated for the different languages. Triclops felt his feet moving, carelessly, into a position as two lines formed themselves, eerily silent for the number of people assembled. There was a blow from a whistle, and on basic instinct, Triclops allowed his feet to fall into step of a basic march. The others around him did the same more or less, though Triclops felt the lag in the line when a small child fell out of step, saying it was hungry or tired and the mother having to pick it up.
The lines followed the troop Commander who led them, the march going along the edge of the first line of posts they had seen, and Triclops soon realized there was a second row, on the other side, so they marched between the two rows. Again, he couldn't help but wonder their purpose.
It was made plain after an hour of marching, what the posts were for- a girl farther up in the lines saw a bit of plant growing just outside the second line of posts, and fell out of line to go and pick the flowers she saw growing. The troops made no move to stop her, though they did tell the marchers to keep moving, and as soon as the girl reached the posts it became evident they hadn't needed to interfere.
Ice blue lines of electricity sprang from between the posts, catching the girl in a crossfire, until she dropped, not even twitching. Triclops heard a scream from what he could only deduce was some relative of the child's, only to be followed by orders from the troops to keep moving. Triclops' head didn't turn to stay on the girl's body as he passed, but his eyes kept on her until she vanished from his peripheral vision.
In another hour, Triclops saw more from the corner of his eye- more ships, just like the ones they had arrived on. He saw more people being unloaded, being told to leave their bags behind. Some ships looked worse than others- on the floors, he could see a body or four, of some sickly, unfortunate soul which hadn't survived the trip. Faintly, remembering the conditions on the transport he'd arrived on, he wondered if the dead ones had died from hunger, thirst, heat, or had simply been dying to begin with.
"Continue marching." He heard from the Commanders. He did just that, and didn't look back. His third eye remained closed- he didn't want to risk whatever punishment difference invoked in this place.
After another two hours of marching, they came to a stop. A guard stood between them and the posts that separated the outside from the building. With a sharp gesture, all the prisoners- there was no denying now that that's what they were- were beckoned forward. A box was sitting on a hovercart, the lid off.
"All valuables are to be placed in here- anything of material value, you will put in this box." The Commander said, and began to walk down the lines, sometimes taking away a possession from someone not willing to give it up. Triclops heard the tingling of metal as jewelry was taken off and thrown together. He saw an old couple of aliens- he couldn't tell the species- crying as they vainly tried to pry matching wedding bands from their arms, and Triclops suppressed the pang he felt... the bitterness, knowing he would never exchange something of that significance with someone who he cared for.
Triclops let his eyes wander, impassively, watching and taking detailed note of the occurrences- a boy refusing to hand over a holo of a dead older cousin was beaten, and then the holo removed from his limp fingers, before the cart continued on. A pair of twi'lek girls were told at gun point to remove all jewelry they wore- Triclops did not know if they'd been captured from a bust at a strip-dance bar, or if they had been slaves to a sleazy bureaucrat, because the only things they wore WERE jewelry- and the box left them behind, clinging to each other in attempts to preserve some dignity.
The cart passed Triclops without a word- he wore no valuables and bore no decorations.
The woman next to him wrestled with the troopers as they attempted to take the ring she was keeping out of their reach. Triclops flinched out of the way of a stun beam, before he saw the woman desperately stuff the ring down her throat and swallow it. She was smashed over the head with the butt of a gun, then dragged out of line. The little one next to her who might have been her child or grandchild didn't protest- Triclops could tell he was too scared.
"Women line up to go to the right. Men line up on the left." The Commander shouted again, and Triclops noted that there was no repeat in different languages this time. It was clear enough, though, as the basic speakers examples were followed by all others. Triclops saw couples holding hands tightly for as long as they could before the guard forced them to break apart. A boy no older than five clung to his mother's hand, before an older man gently pried the little fingers off the woman's hand, dragging him toward the men's line.
Up ahead in the mens line, Triclops could see two boys close enough in age and appearance to be brothers holding each other's hands tightly, as though trying to mold their skin, and Triclops was painfully reminded of himself and Kendalina. He almost wished that she was here, with him, even if they would have been just separated.
Almost.
He could hear the screaming from behind him as a trooper used a blaster to separate a pair of two people- maybe friends, maybe family- who had refused to let go of each other's hands. He didn't understand the words, but he understood every bit of meaning behind them...
Triclops swallowed hard and waited for it to end.
The women were led away. Triclops didn't see where they'd gone- he had no interest in watching any more. They reached the door in the building which they were to be lead through, but a guard stopped them again.
"Left." He barked to the first man who stood before him. That man went left, and the next man came forward, a grandfatherly man, who looked like a kind of gentleman, despite his raggedness.
"Right." The man went right. The next man was a boy- the five year old.
"Right." He went right, quivering as he did. The next man was short, but still fit, as it was plain to see.
"Left." He went left. His son, who'd followed on his heels, was dragged back before the officer, who told him to go right.
Triclops saw the brothers ahead be told to separate- one to go left, the other to go right. It was done, in the end, with a commotion and violent breaking of grips, but happened, none-the-less, and he was again reminded of Kendalina and himself with a sickening twist in his gut. Except he was quite certain Kendalina would not have submitted to the separation and gotten the both of them killed instead of the two boys he saw ahead of him.
Triclops came before the inspection officer, who told him to go left without a second glance. He looked back, at last, seeing the ones who'd been sorted to the right- the younger of them were afraid, it was plain to see, as the little boys cried for their parents and were told to be silent by the guards, and Triclops saw the gaze of the boy who had been separated from his brother still maintaining eye contact with the other in the left group.
They were scared. Everyone was, except for some of the older ones who assumed everything would be alright if they just obeyed directions. Somehow, Triclops knew better- there was something inherently wrong about these proceedings and the manner the guards were treating them which made him feel like it was no ordinary prison they were going to be held in.
The sorting finished and the groups were led away. Triclops heard the howls of the frightened young ones being sent to the right, and ground his teeth to keep quiet.
The left group was stopped again, inside the building. He held a notice in his hand.
"The prisoners are to strip down and follow the guard- you will wash, have a change of clothes, and be inspected for disease." At this, Triclops couldn't suppress the shudder he felt at the concept of being naked out in view of everyone there, but knew what would happen otherwise, so immediately did as he was told. He thought to himself, reinforcing over and over, how this wasn't so unpleasant- his clothes were dirty and he needed a wash, anyway. He could bear the gaze of complete strangers and allow the absence of privacy, since he had a feeling this would be the last time in a long while that he would be allowed cleanliness.
The rustling around him let him keep his eyes down and closed knowing that all of the other men present were also bare at this point. He felt the ushering of the guards, pressing them into a single room, completely tiled, but still utterly rancid, with cracks between tiles, mold growing in them, and rotting cement giving a bitter stank to the air- though it was a relief from the sickly sweetness outside. All prisoners were given a broken piece of soap, and the doors were shut, spurts of red, rusty water dousing all of them, worsening the smell, but getting everyone wet, all the same.
Triclops wordlessly rubbed his soap over his body as quickly as he could, not knowing when the water would shut off. The doors being closed meant that this was the one place the troops had left them alone in, so the other prisoners began to talk, but in hushed voices.
Triclops ignored them, keeping his mind carefully blank, eyes closed, and head down. His body was stinging with growing pains in his legs and stomach and shoulders and arms, skin shriveling in the water, even as he tried to will himself away from this place. Part of him wanted to pretend he was still back in the apartment with Kendalina, even in that filthy fresher where she unashamedly got in with him and insisted on sitting on his shoulders to wash his hair. That part of him kept insisting the power of suggestion would at least make the claustrophobic, indecent, stagnant room he was in at least a little more bearable. However, the other part of Triclops that knew better felt even more bitterness that the fantasy would never be reality again, and the argument ended when the guards opened the doors again, shut the water off, and shooed them back out.
The room was emptied quickly, and silence retook the group. Triclops didn't say anything as he stepped back out, forcing his mind blank that the guards could see him, completely nude and unprotected and shivering from the bitterly cold water still clinging to his skin.
Outside, a table waited them- at the front was a basin of acid, which each prisoner had rubbed into his head to kill any parasites in his hair.
Triclops shut his third eye as tightly as he could before his scalp was treated. The eyelid felt irritated, it itched, and Triclops wanted to scratch it, or at least some kind of base to put over it so he wasn't tempted to scratch, but the eyeball underneath was still safe.
The next spot was a guard with a pair of shears, who cut everyone's hair as short and close to the scalp as possible. Again, Triclops shut his eye, and was relieved when he didn't feel a poke.
The third was a stack of uniforms. The first man to receive his received one several sizes too small, but the shirt stayed on, and the pants covered his genitals, which was all he seemed to want. The boy who'd been separated from his twin received only a large shirt, which barely covered down his thighs. Triclops' was too large, but he could live with that- for the past three years, he'd been growing at a strange, awkward pace, and he had no doubt that this uniform would fit him perfectly before the month was out, maybe even be too small by then.
The guard pressed them forward to a trooper with a tattoo brand. Triclops hadn't been expecting this, but did not struggle as he was marked- he couldn't stop the loud noise that issued from his throat as the brander made a mark on his inner arm, though. He felt a prod in his lower back, ordering him to be quiet.
63696. He was the same number. But, more importantly, he was just a number, all over again.
They were then pushed along to a table where a guard waited with something like patches and a sticking iron. For each prisoner, a patch was selected, then the iron run over the patch as it rested on the shirt of the prisoner, so the patch stuck to the cloth.
Triclops came to the table and a man appeared out of the shadows from behind the guard.
"This one, the Emperor has special orders for." Triclops heard a voice say and a piece of flimsiplast with the same official writing Kendalina had brought back to the apartment so many times was presented to the guard.
Triclops didn't find out what it meant until he was shoved off to the side and the other prisoners were led away. The man who had brought the order lowered his black hood and gave Triclops a square look.
He was pale- paler than Triclops and sickly looking at that- his hair was black, as were his eyes, and his face was as grave as death. He gave Triclops a final glance before he spoke. The only thing in the world that Triclops had to be happy about was that he wasn't Darth Vader, by any long measure.
Yet... despite the fact that Triclops had never met this man, there was a lingering sense of familiarity around him, similar to as though he were wearing the same kind of shirt that Triclops had seen another person wear. He couldn't put his finger on it, but this man just seemed... seemed to have... there had to be a word for it, Triclops just KNEW it, but he couldn't remember what that word was... the sense of having seen just the very ghost of this man, but not enough that Triclops would remember a face or put a name to him.
Fleeting- that was the word. The memory of this man was fleeting... perhaps Triclops had had a dream about him, or had just seen him passing by in a crowd...
The man snorted, loudly.
"What is to be done with him, then?" The Commander asked the man. His reply was short, but at the same time, all emotion which he'd heard in the derisive question before disappeared, leaving only the sound of words issuing from a machine-like throat.
"He is to be kept alive and monitored in solitary confinement. Keep him alive and, if it is necessary, keep him healthy. He will be more useful with his hands bound and the doors locked than if he were made to labor with the other prisoners." Triclops' expression didn't change at this- his memories were still suppressed, but enough had returned to the surface that he knew the kind of place he'd been in before, even if it was in a factual, textbook sense, and it was enough to make him more than happy he would be alone.
Triclops felt his arm seized by the patch man, who ironed a black triangle patch on his sleeve- Triclops felt how hot the iron was, but the poor cloth between his skin and the metal saved him a burn. A second triangle badge was ironed on over it- a red one- and then under that, a patch with the letter 'Mern' on it.
He didn't know what these meant. Even if he had, he doubted he could have done anything about it- he was the prisoner, here. He was inferior.
He was led away. Triclops walked wordlessly, soundlessly, expressionlessly. He remembered this place- only a faint memory, while he heard the voice in the back of his head telling him what had happened here... to HIM... so many years ago.
There was, again, the facts of his situation that Triclops remembered, but none of the events, none of the memories, none of the emotion or pain or disgrace. He knew, from the research he'd done, that this place was an outpost for slave-trading- Kessel needed slaves to labor in the mines, and when they were no longer fit to mine spice or pack it or anything of that sort, they were sold for other purposes to the highest bidder, or sometimes, just kept in the rooms and used in the sex-for-hire trade.
Triclops knew that he'd once belonged to this place, even if he couldn't remember why.
The ideas of all this bothered him, just as much as it would bother any other person, but the fact that there were obviously other things going on in this place and he couldn't identify them was nagging at him- There were more buildings here than any prison would have, and so many of them looked almost like they might be medical centers, but that didn't make any sense- what use would a prison have for medcenters THAT large? Surely they didn't care about the welfare of their prisoners.
And those smells... it disturbed Triclops to not know what some of them were. There was a distinct smell of smoking meat and melted bone that belonged to burning bodies- there was nothing else Triclops could mistake it for, even when he had never smelt burning flesh before. It was the sweetness he couldn't place.
He was led to a room. The others had gone to barracks. Triclops was to be alone. He had expected something else, but this was quite preferable. Maybe they'd just leave him alone this time.
'But you're not alone.' He said, 'That's what my purpose is.'
The room was only three meters in all directions. The walls and floor were cut from uneven stone- as though they'd just been picked, then cemented together. Triclops couldn't lean against the walls, he couldn't stand or stretch, and laying down was another kind of hell. He managed to curl and weave his arms so that his side rested on the edge of the jagged rocks, as opposed to the sharp points.
It wasn't comfortable. But he could live with it.
'If they torture you, just call me.' The other him said, 'That's my job.'
Triclops didn't respond to him. Instead, he thought,
'Damn it.' On the outside, he was a walking corpse. On the inside, only the other half of his mind could see his one thought, one emotion.
'I came so far... just to be back where I started...'
He felt a mental shrug.
'That's life.'
Triclops was awakened far too early in the morning. A guard was poking him with the sharp point of his blaster and finally, Triclops crawled out and stood straight. The sky was still pink, but it was a very dull pink, and there was barely any light for Triclops to see, but he did the best he could.
He simply stood in the cold air of the outside of Kessel- inside that cramped solitary confinement cell had hardly been better, but at least his body heat had been trapped by the insulating nature of the rocks- until a guard came over. Even in the dim light, Triclops could see him walking from his personal barracks.
'Oh, please, TAKE your sweet ass pimp time...' Triclops heard his other voice mumble. Triclops ignored it, but was becoming extremely disconcerted that he could hear and communicate with this split-personality of his.
The guard looked Triclops over, took out a file board and noted down a mark. Triclops didn't know what that meant, but he hadn't said anything to the other guards, so he assumed this was a good thing.
After a moment, the guard handed Triclops a tiny piece of metal that was shaped vaguely like a cup. Inside it was some water with some brown dust settled in the bottom and a piece of bread... if it could be called that- it was mostly covered with something black, and the piece was roughly the size of his palm, barely three millimeters thick, yet it managed to feel like he was holding something heavier than a piece of bread that SHOULD have been at most fifty grams.
Without being told, Triclops stuffed the bread into his mouth, whole- it tasted like the soil beneath his feet and the texture was even worse than the soil. Triclops gulped down the water and recognized the taste from the sludge in the bottom to be some kind of ground up seed- but not one fit for consumption, by any means. It softened the bread, though, enough that Triclops could chew and swallow the paltry breakfast.
It was only as he swallowed that he felt something slimy touch the back of his throat, and he realized there were larvae of pests in the bread. Who knew how many he'd just swallowed, but it was just enough that he felt sick to think about it.
Before he could recover, however, Triclops was told to follow the guard to another building. Triclops could have sworn that he heard the voice in the back of his head swear, but he did as he was told.
The march was long and cold- the air was somehow still oppressive with that smell of sweet, deadly gas in the air and the thick smoke that was coming from the furnace cum incinerators. Triclops shivered at how bitterly cold the air was, even without the wind chill, and the additional lack of proper clothing to keep him warm was not a comfort.
From what he could see, the building where he was being led to had some kind of putrid smoke to fortify the false atmosphere with was pumping from a stack. But what the purpose of the building was, he could not tell.
Inside, however, he quickly discovered that it was a medical building. Only half of it, however, looked to be fit to actually care for those who were sick or injured.
The rest was nothing more than a laboratory for lab ranats.
The room he was placed in was one of those.
Triclops watched, impassively, as the men prepared a series of needles and syringes. He closed his eyes and bit the tip of his tongue as both his arms were inserted with the long tubes, before a searing pain from whatever was in them rippled through his veins. Whether it was poison, acid, base, or some other kind of chemical- they could be pumping molten alloys into his bloodstream, for all he knew- it HURT.
'God DAMN it...'
The experiments continued every day for each week. Triclops wasn't sure how his body was surviving- so much of what they were doing to him could NOT be helping his physical health, if anything, it should be destructive to a majority of Human bodily functions. The only way that he didn't die from the pain alone was because his other self kept taking over, every day now, pushing him into a state of unconscious awareness.
It was beginning to bother Triclops, in a moral sense, that the other him was taking all of the pain FOR him- even though he didn't feel any of it, himself, Triclops still KNEW what was happening to him. Every needle, every scalpel, every injection, and Triclops knew what they were doing, but it was in that detached sense, as though he were reading it from a story.
He also knew that his other personality wasn't making any noise- he didn't want to give the "medics" the satisfaction.
It disturbed Triclops immensely that he wasn't the one doing that.
During the second week, the other personality inside Triclops lost patience at being forced to endure the sickening tests the controlling doctors kept trying on him.
The Imperial scientists and stormtroopers standing outside on guard were more than surprised when #63696 broke the restraints and rose off the table with a confident smirk and a kind of aura of power surrounding him that none of them had ever seen.
"I won't let you do whatever you please."
By the third week, the task of trying to overpower the maniac prisoner #63696 had become too great a labor for a mere squad of four or five troopers and a larger division was requested to quell the single, troublesome rioter.
The reinforcement squad arrived in the room, whose walls were now coated with blood, splattered organs, and skewered bodies of the old scientists and troopers. The only living person was standing, staring down at the floor with blood splattered all over him, and grinning madly as they entered the room.
Before he could move, they sprayed sleeping gas to fill the room.
The fourth week, Triclops had begun attempts to defy the Imperials in his own way, albeit passively. He stopped eating the bread he was given every morning, hiding it in his sleeves and only slurped the water out of the cup, leaving behind the attempts at coffee.
However, barely the fifth week came and the guard inspected the cell and found the crumbs of Triclops' hidden bread.
Almost immediately, the blunt, hard end of something connected with the side of Triclops' head, sending him to the ground with his ears throbbing in a headache. Triclops put his hands over the back of his head to protect his eye and the back of his skull, but something like a thick leathery rope sliced through his shirt, hitting him between the ribs where he had no fat to protect his organs except the skin. A second lash caught him on the shoulders, slashing away the flesh over the tip of his collarbone where it connected with his shoulder joint. The third blow hit his spine and he passed out.
When he awoke, there was blood on the floor, enough to make Triclops gag, but his stomach wasn't quite twisted enough to be sick, just yet. His back was raw and throbbing with searing pain and he felt as though his very lungs, stomach, and intestines were cringing away from the cold that penetrated his skin.
But at least he was alone in his cell again. It had been a single, brutal whipping, but it had saved him from having to be strapped down to the medical table for a day, or perhaps even longer. Triclops was unsure, but starting to regain hope- after all, these wounds wouldn't close overnight.
While he had been left mercifully in solitude, the guards had had no care to place him in a comfortable position- currently, he was laying on some very sharp points of rocks, just a step down from being sharp enough to puncture his skin. Laying on them was an exercise in torture all by itself, but to move... Triclops cautiously shifted one arm and his entire torso seemed to scream in protest. The lines of bloody scars seemed to dig even deeper and grow even wider and longer as Triclops tried to sit up.
Yes, moving was a BAD idea. But it had to be done. Triclops tried using his legs- they moved painlessly enough, but connected with a wall too quickly. Cautiously, Triclops bent his knees, trying to curl up so he could use his feet to push himself on his side. As the space between his belly and his thighs shortened, his back stretched and burned, but it was bearable enough, until Triclops tried to put his head between his knees.
Bad bad BAD idea...
Triclops coughed a little as an involuntary moan made its way from his throat, before he made up his mind- he had to move, and he might as well get it over with.
Now, if only he could see where he was and where that comfortable slope of rock without points was- even as he opened his eyes, he couldn't have seen the hand in front of his face with the blinding darkness that suffused the small space and trying to turn his head was a new species of pain just waiting to breed.
Then, he remembered... that third eye of his... might be able to do something... just SOMEthing. He opened it.
And saw everything. It saw through the darkness in the cell, it saw through the walls of the cells, it saw through practically everything. He could see a planet far away with fur-covered creatures that were climbing to their homes in trees, several ships arriving and capturing whole tribes of them. He could see the Jedi Temple crawling with students, even though he knew that all the younglings had been killed, and one of them looked suspiciously like Master Yoda, except with hair that wasn't white. He could see whole stars being formed and destroyed, planets moving, and suns and moons rising.
Triclops shut his eye quickly, arms going back to grip the back of his head before he could remember how much it was going to hurt, and being very surprised with pain when it shot through his shoulders.
Closing his eyes and cautiously trying to open his eye just a sliver. Again, a whole barrage of images came to his mind, sending his head reeling.
Still, he'd seen the glimpse of his cell enough that he knew where to move. Even as his back seared with pain and the scabs over the wounds opened up again, oozing hot blood out and down his sides, Triclops pushed himself to his hands and knees, and skirted over to the smooth bed of rock to lay down again.
Then, he threw up- it was mostly water in his stomach, but Triclops couldn't help it. The smell and taste of blood in the air was making his head ache and his stomach felt like it had been tied into knots. Every inch of his skin was shaking and felt like paper over a wire frame and his insides shivered. Triclops raised his hand to plug his nose and tried to breathe through his mouth, but there was a metallic, bitter taste to the air.
His back and sides ached, and he was probably not going to be fed this night, but he had stopped them from taking him to the lab today.
It was as close to a victory as he would come.
After two months of the same trying situation, Triclops stopped resisting. Every time he saw the wounds on his back reopen and begin to bleed, his shaking just got worse. Just the day before he'd stopped resisting, the guard hadn't even needed the rope or to even touch Triclops- he'd cut his own finger open. Just the sound of the flesh being broken and the splash of blood on the ground had been enough to subdue Triclops that time.
His other self, however, did not give up. If anything, Triclops' surrender just seemed to spur him on. The lab table came back, and even if Triclops allowed himself to be strapped down, the other him would just rip the restraints off a minute later, throw off the eight medics attempting to hold him down and subdue him, and either tear them apart or crush their skulls with his bare hands.
Triclops was beginning to regret that he'd ever felt guilty for remaining unconscious during those whole periods of time when his other personality was in control- as though to make up for it, his other self had been constantly thrusting Triclops back out when the slaughter was finished, hands, face, floor, and body still thoroughly covered in blood, and then leaving him to have a breakdown until the reinforcements arrived and sedated him again.
Before the third month was over, it took ten and a half squads and enough gas to poison five people to subdue Triclops' other self. The way he put it, there were several different reasons for this approach.
'One way I see it, if I've got resistance built up to their guards and chemicals, eventually, it'll get to the point that even if they can keep us in a cell, they won't be able to DO anything else. Hell, they won't even be able to execute us- the body has an immunity to their poison gas now and the skin's become so tough that blaster bolts and saber blades can't break it.' He didn't even sound like he was trying to defend himself to Triclops, but rather like he was pointing out that he was right and Triclops was wrong.
'And, eventually, they're gonna start running out of scientists to send down and experiment on this body- it's gonna get to the point that I either kill them all off, or they'll stop sending in scientists every day. Either way, we're finally gonna get some peace and quiet around here.'
Triclops pleadingly implored him to stop, because the guards assigned to watch over him would take out their frustrations on Triclops when the other self was sedated and his hematophobia was becoming a device that they could use against him, now.
Triclops' other face didn't give a ranat's ass about any of that.
Triclops tried using his eye again, about two months after his first attempt. His other self had been right about the shortage of scientists- mostly stormtrooper guards were in charge of him, now, following directions programmed for them into a data disc. Today, they'd tried a new tactic of strapping him down, face-first on the lab table instead of on his back. The theory, Triclops supposed, was that different muscles were used when the limbs were moved in different directions, and he wouldn't have enough strength in the particular muscles needed to pull off the restraints from these new angles.
Whatever the reason, Triclops found himself with his nose pressed flat to the table, trying to breathe loud enough to ignore what the squad of easily twenty stormtroopers talked over his head about what was to be done that day. His eyes were shut tightly against the table, before he thought about trying again.
Again, Triclops saw a whole swirl of different things, most from places far beyond where he was, but this time, he could process it a little better- some of the things he saw were different, and it was enough to give him a hint of what it was he was seeing.
Both the present and the past and some things which had yet to come still. What really gave Triclops that hint was that he'd seen himself, however briefly, twice- once in a flash of the Jedi Temple, sitting in a room with a girl with long brown hair wearing boy's clothes, and the other time in a glimpse of a planet covered in green foliage and a tall, white-haired man keeping himself sheltered from the rain under a leaf that was twice his size. It was unmistakably himself, but in different stages of his life, which only led Triclops to the conclusion he was seeing something beyond reality at the time.
His contemplation was interrupted when he heard noises around him and shut his eye. Turning his head to the side, he could see the rows of what had been organized and orderly tables, trays, and equipment was now all turned upside down. The men had been thrown against the walls, some were even limp now, and Triclops couldn't help but note, as he turned his head in the opposite direction, that he was now staring at the ceiling of the room, as though something had tipped the table he was on onto it's side.
The stormtroopers who hadn't gone limp and were still conscious enough to be back on their feet and trying to make sense of the situation were just as confused as Triclops, and thankfully didn't take it out on him for whatever it was that had just turned the room upside down.
'I think that's enough for today- let's see how fast these suckers can run.' Triclops barely had time to react before the familiar glaze of being taken over by his other self came through.
Frustrated, Triclops imagined himself kicking a wall or something of the like, before it occurred to him that his other half was probably doing something much more constructive with those kicks- and, most likely, he was sending some of the stormtroopers across the room with just a tap of his toe.
Suddenly, Triclops felt a bit better.
'Ha- you were the one born with the damn thing and you STILL don't know how to USE it.' Triclops was becoming a bit more accustomed to having to hear this other voice actually talk to him on a daily basis- he supposed that the time he had allowed his other self out to fight off the troops in his vain attempt to protect the younglings had broken the barrier which had kept them separate.
What irritated him was that this other half of himself seemed to be less like a different side of his personality in the same body and more like a completely different person that was quickly becoming a very annoying roommate. While there were other issues surrounding Triclops to be more uncomfortable, displeased, or irritated with, very few of them were in his control. So, rather than feel sullen and hard-done-by because of the horrible food, filthy water, poor sleeping conditions, and torture, he was choosing to pick his battles that COULD be won.
This one was being waged against ill-tempered companions.
'So, you know what this odd eye of mine does while I do not and you can use its abilities better than myself. That is no reason to brag.' Triclops said as calmly as could be expected. He was also becoming aware of a third personality altogether that was neither himself, nor this other face, but just a personality that emerged when he was short on sleep and in a particularly bad mood.
While he wasn't sure what to address his other self, he had a vague idea that Kendalina would call his third face something along the lines of 'Mr. Grumpy'.
'Sure it is- you don't know how to use a freak eye you were BORN with, but I do and I wasn't even the original personality.' Triclops still was not able to see where this voice was manifesting itself, which made him feel incredibly foolish talking to nothing.
'And your point is?' Triclops returned, hoping that this other, ridiculously smug and haughty version of himself would be put off by his lack of response enough to stop pestering him.
He wasn't.
'My point...' The voice in the back of his head said, pointedly, '...Is that you should be ashamed of yourself. The least YOU could do is try to figure out what it DOES!'
That had been confusing Triclops for some time now- he'd never used the eye in the back of his head, since it was just ridiculous to open it up to look behind him when he could just as easily turn his head and look over his shoulder. With this taken into consideration, Triclops still didn't know what his eye was capable of, always thinking that it was just an ordinary eye that simply saw down his back.
'Then, perhaps, you could enlighten me.' Triclops suggested, dryly. He did not expect for the other side of him to take him literally.
'Maybe I will- draw up a chair, why don't you?'
A/N: O-kaaaay! The final segment in this story has officially begun. Keep your eyes out for little baby Ken- it'll be cute enough, you'll choke. And, I took most of the descriptions of the prison from accounts of Holocaust survivors. In my mind, the Kessel spice mines have ALWAYS equaled the Holocaust.