AN: I'm just going to slap a "Warning - vivid torture scene" up here. The fic is rated M for a reason, but I thought I'd give y'all a heads up.
.***.***.***.
A blunted rod of cold durasteel burst from the table and forced itself deep into Cal's back. Exhausted but not at all numbed to the pain, Cal grit his teeth to stifle a scream. He'd learned the hard way that the inside of his mouth was an easy target for the drills.
Halfway through his body the rod came to a stop, only to begin vibrating against a nerve.
Metal clanged against his bones, straining or ripping through the thin strands of muscle that stood between it and Cal's sciatic nerve.
Blinded by the white-hot pain, Cal's body strained and writhed uncontrollably. Muscle, made bruised and bleeding from days of the same tortures, pulled and threatened to snap. Paralyzed by the pain, terrifying moments passed where Cal couldn't even draw in a breath.
Before the agony became too much, before Cal's body slipped into a merciful unconsciousness, the rod drifted to a stop. Just after it moved away from the nerve in Cal's back, the rod suddenly became blistering hot. Nearly glowing with heat, it retracted back into the table, cauterizing the wound it had just made and leaving a throbbing burn in its wake.
Sucking in a breath without unclenching his jaw, Cal knew better than to think things would get better.
Not a second after the blunt stabbing, a new set of mechanical terrors rotated around the table.
Recognizing one of them, Cal barely had enough presence of mind to clamp his eyes shut.
The gesture didn't matter, as a dozen thin, spindly slivers of durasteel reached forward to pry his eyelids open. Tips of sharp metal slid across the surface of Cal's eyes, the sharp sensation just a prelude to their true purpose.
Tight restraints holding Cal's arms down, he had no other option than to try to blink the machine away. The steel fingers weren't deterred, leaving the skin around Cal's eyes to spasm in an attempt to close. Forced into watching, Cal watched the slow approach of a second machine whirring around the table. Spray nozzle hardly an inch away, there wasn't a thing Cal could do as a harsh brown mist shoot towards him.
Fiery chemical pain blossomed across Cal's eyes, such a terrible thing that he wildly screamed and tried to thrash his head to the side.
The metal slivers around Cal's eyes dug into his sockets, holding him in place as a second set of steel tools poured forward. These prying his mouth open further and going to work on their own grisly programing.
And on the tortures went. Minute after minute. Hour after Hour. Day after day.
Cal wasn't sure if he'd slept since being trapped in the fortress.
He was sure he hadn't eaten.
And he was sure that they only threw him into a cell so that there was time to disinfect the table between sessions.
Try as he might, Cal struggled to find any silver lining in his situation. Knowing that he probably wouldn't get an infection from the impossibly large number of scalpels and syringes didn't make the wounds any more bearable. It didn't give him any hope of escape.
Instead, it left him with the sinking realization that the Empire meant to keep him alive and in fighting shape for as long as possible.
.***.***.***.***.
BD-1 didn't know where he was.
But he was sure that it wasn't anywhere that he wanted to be.
"Transfer pod 3591-T, awaiting pickup." The commanding trooper spoke into the control panel.
"Roger that, transport ship 0292-D en route." A mechanical voice crackled out of the machine.
Looking for any way out of this place, BD searched the walls. They were flat and solid, clearly meant for an isolated room.
The little droid knew that most of the Fortress was under water, and the only reason he could think of for having an isolated room like this was if it was meant to ferry passengers between the depths and the surface.
Hoping that he could just stay put until the troopers were offloaded on some surface platform, BD tried formulating a plan for when he returned to the Fortress.
First, he would log the location of this lift before breaking Cal free. That way they would have a handy escape route. Then there was just the small matter of figuring out a path to bring Cal to the lift. BD gave the young Jedi a lot of credit, but even he had to admit that Cal was too big to follow the path he had found.
While BD was coming up with the beginnings of an idea, the room rocked to a stop.
A moment ticked by, but the blast doors didn't open.
Just as the delay started getting on BD's nerves, the room jolted to the side.
A mutter of complaints rippled through the troopers.
"Transfer pod 3591-T to 0292-D, what's going on out there?"
A different voice then the first replied, "A coupling slipped. It's attached now, don't worry about it."
"I don't like your tone, Pilot." The trooper commander replied, "I'll let the hanger know you've neglected the maintenance on your ship."
Cowed but clearly annoyed, the voice gave a sheepish, "Sorry, Sir."
Talks of pilots and hangers filled BD with a sudden sinking dread.
If the transfer pod was getting lifted from the water, he had no idea how he was supposed to get back to the Fortress.
He had no idea how he was going to get back to Cal.
.***.***.***.***.
The familiar weight of a shock collar clamped around Cal's neck.
A moment after it did, the ever-present grip around his wrists and ankles drifted away, the only thing keeping him standing being the slight backwards tilt of the table.
"Given up so soon?" Trilla's familiar voice reached Cal next.
Prying his exhausted and irritated eyes open, Cal looked over at the Second Sister.
A blank mask looked back at him.
Cal hadn't seen the face of another person since that fateful fight, however long ago that might have been. He wished that his last look at another person hadn't been an enraged Trilla or a barely controlled Cere. He had memories of better times to hold onto, but they seemed so distant, nearly unreal.
"Stop it." Cal barely managed to mutter, tasting blood as he did.
The Second Sister didn't move, looming over him like a faceless shadow. The stormtroopers had been faceless goons since the very beginning, but Cal knew that there was a person beneath the Second Sister's mask.
A person that he'd given a chance.
"This is pathetic," she spoke again, "get up."
This time her words were joined by a harsh shove forward. Forcibly yanked away from his torture induced stupor, Cal hadn't the chance to catch himself before limply tumbling to the ground.
Almost too exhausted to be angry, Cal tried to ignore the fact that a simmering rage was all he had left as he scrapped himself off the floor.
Trilla watched him.
Cal was a wreck. Bruised and bleeding from several patches of exposed skin, his cloths had been torn to shreds by the indifferent machines. The few scars that he'd had walking in were lost to fresh wounds that spread over his face like a spiderweb.
Though measures were taken to keep infection from setting in, Cal reeked. Grime that had been on his already raggedy clothes had grown and compounded with old and rotting bodily fluids.
When Cal did finally make it to standing, he was bent over. Whether curled over in pain, or unable to move from too many pulled or locked muscles in his back, Trilla wasn't sure.
Though Trilla would never admit it, Cal had lasted far longer than she had on the table. By this point during her time as a prisoner, she was being fitted for her uniform.
But in the end, she thought to herself, Cere abandoned him just as she did me. The idiot probably still thinks that someone will come to rescue him.
"Walk." She ordered.
Cal gave her a sharp look.
"Or lie back on the table. Your choice."
The fragile look of defiance on Cal's features quickly raced away, replaced by one of defeat as he hobbled along.
Cal didn't know where they were going, but he hadn't the energy to ask questions. He tried to keep his guard up, to try and feel for any warning of danger through the Force, but anything more than taking a step was an impossibly draining task.
The focus it took just to walk was so much, that Cal didn't try to question Trilla as they moved. Instead, a just few desperate thoughts managed to crawl through Cal's head.
Got to find a way out. Got to-
Cal nearly tripped on his way into a turbolift.
Trilla didn't move to help him, but she did have a harsh comment at the ready, "You know they're not coming back for you."
Knowing that she was just trying to anger him, Cal said nothing as the turbolift began to move.
"It's been a month," she went on, "they haven't even tried."
"You're lying." Cal spat as he leaned against the wall. Doing so rubbed against the exposed gashes along his arm and shoulder, but the extra support was the only thing keeping him standing.
"Am I?" Trilla turned to face him. Fully aware that he thought Cere dead, she said, "You're trusting your fate to a cowardly lateron and a nightsister?"
Cal stalled for a second. He knew that the Empire had been tracking him and Cere, and it shouldn't have been a surprise to learn that Trilla knew about Greez and Merrin. But, having them directly referenced took away the little bit of security that distance brought with it.
Trilla saw how her words picked at Cal. She kept up the assault, "Yes, I know all about the little crew that you and Cere managed to pull together. The Stinger Mantis went into hiding after you two attacked and hasn't been seen since. They're not coming back for you."
Afraid to accept Trilla's words as true, Cal changed the subject, "Where are you taking me?"
She noticed the blunt change. Deciding that Cal's own worried thoughts would do more to torment him than anything she could say, Trilla moved on, "To a shower. You reek."
"No, really."
Having already answered, Trilla said nothing as the turbolift's doors slid open.
A long and featureless hall stretched out before the two of them. Trilla at first gestured, and the shoved Cal out of the lift. Keeping a pace behind him, she watched how difficult it was for him to move.
Knowing that it would be yet another annoyance for the young Jedi, she kept talking.
"Consider this a peace offering. I'm giving you chance to wash off some of that grime. If you do, I might even reward you with some time away from the table."
Cal suspected that this was some kind of trap. Trilla's comment all but confirmed it, "Sounds too good to be true."
"I knew your standards were low, but I didn't think that a simple bath was too good for you."
Chafing slightly at the sarcastic barb, Cal tried making his point again, "What's in it for you?"
"I don't have to smell you anymore, for starters."
When Cal said nothing in response, Trilla went on, "I'm giving you a simple choice. So long as you pick the answer that the empire wants you to make, you'll be rewarded."
There was the ulterior motive that Cal had been looking for, "And if I don't?"
"You go back to the table. This is all very simple, even you should be able to understand." As Trilla made her point, she came to a stop at a door. Whooshing it to the side revealed a long room, with one of the walls dotted with shower heads.
Weighing his options, Cal searched for some way that this could be turned against him. It wasn't some complicated moral choice. He didn't see any opportunity for Trilla or anyone else to tempt him into acting on anger or fear.
"Go on," Trilla goaded from behind her mask, "Wash yourself up and I'll spare you… twenty-four hours away from the table."
Cal fought and failed not to show how much that offer tempted him.
Satisfied that she had won this time, Trilla gestured into the room and towards a wad of gray cloths sitting on a damp bench, "Now be a good little prisoner and get yourself cleaned up. You have half an hour."