Note: This part rated M only for psychological torture.
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It wasn't blessed sleep that he was waking from. He'd been knocked unconscious several times in his young life, but this was different. Lethargy infected his limbs like a disease. Or perhaps he was paralyzed. Cautiously, Luke turned his head.

This wasn't his room. This was a cell. Gray, harsh, sterile. A rough blanket scratched his body, and he sat up slowly, clutching it to him when he realized he was naked. A wave of nausea hit him, but he managed to swallow the bile and lean back against the cold durasteel wall.

It was difficult to think. Or to even know what to think about first. He didn't want to think, so he simply sat, staring blankly at the opposite wall.

Two guards entered, one with a rifle pointed at him, the other with a tray that contained a plasticene bowl and cup. Luke watched, rousing himself when they headed out again.

"Why am I here?"

The door closed.

After awhile, he stood, staggering a little as he crossed to the table.

He ate. He vomited.

The lights went out.

He slept.

The lights came on.

They brought more food, not speaking.

"Why am I here?"

The door closed.

He ate. He vomited.

The lights went out.

He slept.

They brought more food, not speaking.

"Why am I here?"

The door closed.

He ate. He vomited. He slept.

The lights came on.

The cycle repeated itself over and over until he lost count of how many times. Maybe it was weeks. Or months. But it didn't really matter. He was exhausted, demoralized, and surely in shock. Probably the unappealing food was drugged, slowing his mind and turning his stomach. It didn't really matter.

It wasn't until Rayl Quester arrived that something mattered to him. After so long, here was someone to talk to.

His legs were too weak to hold him up, but he stood anyway, wrapped in the blanket, swaying. "Why am I here?"

The brown eyes looked at him strangely. "Did we not treat you well?"

"I...y-yes," he stammered, confused.

"Did you expect to remain your comfortable accommodations?"

He nodded.

"Indeed?" Quester exclaimed. "Well, you rebellious Imperials must have a different standard than we do. Murderers are held in cells, not suites."

Round-eyed, he stared. "I'm not a... m-murderer." He stumbled over the word, suddenly seeing Krish slamming against the wall. "Am I?" he asked in a whisper. ...a million men...

"Captain Starflyer was a fine officer and a good man."

Luke sat heavily on the hard cot. "He's dead? No..."

"Yes."

"No! I can't have killed him!" He replayed the moment in his mind, the rage he felt when he discovered... "No. He couldn't have been hurt that badly."

"Let me help you face the truth." Dr. Quester sat next to him and pulled a syringe from his breast pocket. "Your arm," he commanded.

"No. No more drugs. Please." He wasn't in a position to bargain, and knew it. "If you say I did it, I believe you. I don't need drugs." A fog already surrounded him. He watched with dismay as Quester grasped his arm and lined up a needle with a vein. "I don't need it..." This feeling of helplessness, the inability to move...where had they come from? "Is my food drugged?" he asked, wincing.

Clear liquid disappeared from the syringe. He didn't feel any different...maybe a little lightheaded... "What is it?"

"Just a simple truth serum. It won't hurt you."

He leaned against the doctor, enjoying the protective feel of another's arm around him. "Okay."

"I'm your friend, Luke, remember? We talked about that."

"Did we?" His eyelids were heavy, and he let them close. The dark was soft and quiet, so peaceful. "Long time ago..."

"Yes, a very long time ago. We talked about your friends, remember?"

"Umm..."

"They left you behind, remember? They went somewhere and abandoned you in Cloud City. Bespin."

"Vader!" he exclaimed, bolting upright in a burst of energy.

"Vader won't hurt you. He's gone. You're safe with me."

"Gone?" Someone was petting his hair. He relaxed again.

"Yes, he's gone. He's left you behind, just like your friends did. Where did they go?"

"Don't know."

"You know. Tell me where they went, and I'll take you to them."

To be with Han and Leia again...and Wedge and Chewie and all his friends...

Imperials.

"No, can't."

"You can tell me, Luke. I'm your friend."

Jedi. He was a Jedi. "No. Won't tell you."

"That's too bad, Luke. If you don't tell me, I won't be able to help you. You're a killer. You killed Krish. You killed a million people. You're an evil man. You're evil like Vader. Why are you like Vader?"

"Not! Not like him! I'm not!" Sobs racked his body, and he fell sideways on the cot. The nice voice was gone. He was alone. Alone and evil. A killer. Like Vader.

"Father?" he whimpered. "Father?"

It was dark. More than dark. He couldn't see anything. The floor was cold against his bare skin. He'd lost his blanket.

Cautiously, Luke crawled forward, reaching around for his blanket. His blanket was the only thing he had. He'd had it a very long time. Where had it gone? "Blanket?"

"Hello, Luke."

Startled, he froze. "Blanket?" he whispered. No. Blankets couldn't talk. "Who is it?"

The voice came from the opposite side. "It's me. Your friend."

Quester. "Where are you?"

"Here." It came from somewhere else. Luke swiveled his head.

"Hold still!"

"I'm not moving, Luke," Quester said from behind him. "You're going in circles."

He sat, pushing his palms into the floor. "I'm not moving."

"Yes, you are. You're spinning."

He was dizzy. Maybe Quester was right. Or maybe the room was moving. He dug his fingers into the floor, but there was nothing to hold onto. "Make it stop."

"I can do that." The voice was right in front of him. "Do you want me to take you to your friends?"

"No! Where's Vader? I want Vader!"

"Vader is gone, Luke. Vader isn't here."

"Not here...?"

"Luke...are you ready to pay for the Death Star?" came a whisper in his right ear.

He started, but didn't move. "What do you mean?"

"It's time to pay. They're coming for you. They want to make you pay."

Luke pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, not speaking.

"Get in the corner, Luke. Quickly! You'll be safe in the corner."

Of course, the corner! It was so logical-- why hadn't he thought of that before? Scrabbling across the floor, he found the wall. His hands slid over the smooth surface. This wasn't a corner. On his knees, he continued to the left. He would find a corner and be safe.

It was a very big room. It was hard to find the corner. Where was the corner? He crawled and crawled.

"Are you in the corner, Luke? They're coming. Hurry! Find the corner."

He couldn't find the corner. It wasn't there. He crawled and crawled and pounded his fists on the slick wall. "There's no corner! Help me!"

"I can help you. I'm your friend, Luke. I'll take you to your friends, just tell me how to get there. Hurry!"

"I can't, I can't!" Panic rose in his throat, choking him. "No!"

"Then I can't help you." The voice sounded sad.

Exhausted, Luke curled up on the floor and waited. They were coming to get him, to make him pay. Did they ever make Vader pay? Did they ever make his father pay?

The world exploded in light so dazzling that he screamed in pain. He squeezed his eyes closed, pressed his hands over them, but it was still too bright. Curling tighter, he hid his face against his knees, trembling with shock.

Someone laughed.

He rocked back and forth, not knowing what was happening and unable to reason. There was more laughter. Talk. It was a long time before he could open his eyes.

A thousand naked Lukes stared at him.

All part of him, all different parts of him, held together by gossamer threads, fragile connections that were snapping, unraveling, dissolving into dust.

"Luke," he whispered.

"Luke...where are my friends? Where did they go?"

"Sullust," he told Luke dreamily. "You'll be there soon."

"I'll be there," Luke corrected gently. "You won't be. You have to pay."

"I have to pay," another Luke said.

"No." One of them smiled at him. "Let me. I'm dead already. They can't hurt me."

Fearfully, he stretched out one finger to touch that Luke. Instead of human warmth, he found--

Cold.

Hard.

He slammed his fist against Luke, and Luke shattered, pieces of him scattering across other Lukes.

"Glass!" he screamed. "Mirrors, all mirrors!" He staggered to his feet, smashing at all of them, pounding his fury at them, smearing blood across the shards, hating them all-- all the Imperials who tricked him, Quester, Vader-- Vader, Vader, his father! "I hate you!"

Bits of other people were reflected around him. He broke them, too, beating against them until Quester got hold of him, stabbed him again with that huge damned needle, stabbed him again and again--

A black cloud rolled in, a storm that swept him up, claimed him, held him close, warm so warm, and said...

"Give me my son."

...the last words he heard.