Thanks, MistiWhitesun. I'm glad you are enjoying it. It's a bit short on action and dialogue at this point since it kind of starts in the middle of things and I keep having to go back and explain what's going on. There will be confrontations between Jedi and Sith But the most important one, which might take place in a sequel to this if it's ever finished, will hopefully be different from the usual. Coincidences can be really strange. It sounds like we've entered the Twilight Zone of fanfic writing. At least you're accidentally using the same stuff as Kathy Tyers instead of soap operas or something. It could be much, much worse.
Following in the wake of Brakiss, who seemed to have been assigned as his escort, Anakin could only be thankful that the man had foregone his usual glaringly bright silver robes.
His eyes still had not entirely adjusted from the darkness of his room in the medcenter. The lights had malfunctioned soon after he first woke up and hadn't come back on before he was hurried out of the room by Brakiss this—morning, afternoon, evening? He had no idea what time it was or how long he had been recovering, if one could call it that.
No one had so much as stuck their head through the doorway to check on him in all that time, and he felt as though what injuries could heal had only halfway done so.
He supposed Palpatine must have wanted him to brood over the pain. If that was the case it had been a successful strategy.
Perhaps the lighting had been intentional as well? Being physically in darkness before turning -- that must be the point of this. The illusion of being willing to go along had to have been destroyed by the escape attempt.
No, before. His encounter with the flaming remains of the control center, or at least something like it, had obviously been planned.
Maybe the traditional method for making someone into a Sith is somewhat like that for growing fungus. Keep them in the dark and feed them poodoo, he thought, needing to laugh at something about this situation because it was too horrible to be real.
He had adjusted to obeying people hated, following arbitrary and cruel rules and orders, and seeing those few people in this place he had allowed himself to care for treated like they were nothing.
He had even become used to knowing that his life no longer included the family and friends of the world he had left behind. He had accepted that he would most likely never see them again, though he was determined to never stop trying to get home.
Nothing could have prepared him to deal with this.
The probable loss of his friends and allies who had been part of the escape attempt was devastating enough. But never even in his worst nightmares had he imagined that Palpatine would try this kind of tactic to trap him into his grandfather's old role as Darth Vader.
It had to be part of the man's insanity, this belief that Anakin could be forced to mimic the past so exactly. As if he could take orders from--that.
Even the thought of it brought an overwhelming sense of rage that made his head ache, distracting him from everything else. Anakin tried to rid himself of the feeling. He knew it would make him vulnerable to the mind games the Emperor was so fond of.
It refused to budge, lodging its sharp nails in his skull like a sea squirrel in the branches of its coral home. He hated this, hated being immovably chained to this place and this role by little more than wires and air.
Of course, leaving had been nearly impossible before. But there had at least been the knowledge, taken for granted, that he would be able to survive outside the Center should he ever manage it.
As expected, he had found a number of tracking devices and enough explosives to level a small cargo ship scattered throughout his life-support systems. It could take years for him to disable the things without triggering them or alerting any machines set up to monitor them to his tampering.
Brakiss halted suddenly in front of a pair of doors Anakin remembered well from nearly a year ago.
He'd been summoned to the Emperor's throne room not ten minutes after he was brought to the Center. It had not gone well, to say the least. The aftereffects had been extremely painful for several days, and he had had problems with uncontrollable twitching in his hands for weeks.
The hair had been the least troublesome, but the most embarrassing, frizzing up in a way that looked downright ridiculous. That was one effect of Force-lightning he had never heard of, and would have been just as happy never to learn about.
He watched in slight confusion as Brakiss turned and walked away without a word.
Very odd. From Jacen and Jaina's stories, the man usually couldn't resist talking whenever he had an audience for his ego.
Anakin had been surprised to see Brakiss had been revived since most of those who were had been born much earlier than him. Then again, he'd heard that the genetic material used in Zalrin's mess of an experiment had been taken from a repository collected by Imperial scientists throughout the years the Empire was in power. Brakiss certainly would have been alive and known as a Force-sensitive during that time.
Truth be told, he didn't care that much one way or another. He was stalling.
The doors slid open as though his thoughts had been heard. They probably had. Reluctantly, he walked inside, trying not to flinch as he heard the doors slam shut again behind him.