This, this is everything he was taught to fear for his whole life. Ahsoka knows this, and her gut twists seeing that fear realized in such a grotesque display.

There's blood and skin that's been sliced open and kept that way, wires and tubes connected to nearly every karking vein in his body. The restraints are the only pieces of equipment that don't feel clinical, the metal rusted and worn to sharp edges in some places. His wrists are shredded as a result.

He's unconscious, which she curses, as she tries to figure out how to safely disconnect all this equipment so she can get both of them out of there.

Methodically, the togruta removes each wire, tearing strips of fabric to staunch the veins' blood flow. Upon finishing, she carefully moves him off the table, he groans, but does not wake, wrapping her arm under his shoulder and partially drags him out of the small laboratory.

They make it back to the ship; there was no one the former Jedi left alive at the facility to hinder them. She quickly sets up life support.

He should awake soon, at least according to the monitor. She feels herself calm, and becomes aware of the silence.

A year ago there would have been a squad of clones beside her, a medic worrying over Chase, and her master comming her one too many times, because even if he had all the faith in the world in her he had to still make sure she was alright…

Now they're alone. A former Jedi padawan and a bionic supersoldier who've run dry out of allies and friends, surviving the wake of the Republic's fall.

And the togruta wagers, despite all they've lost, that they've come out far luckier than most.