Star Wars belongs to Lucasfilm Ltd., itself property of The Walt Disney Company. I make no lucrative nor commercial use of my writings in relationship with the Star Wars license.
For those who may need it, please be warned that this chapter contains graphic depictions of violence, namely torture. It is a little more detailed than what we see in the movies, and it happens in a rather upsetting context. There's also verbal abuse and psychological and emotional manipulation. If you are sensitive or triggered by such content, please do not read further. A brief summary of the chapter will be issued in the note of the next one for those who want to skip it but still wish to continue to read the story - this is the most violent chapter of the fic, it winds down again afterwards.
Luke lay on his back and traced an absent pattern on the naked wall. He didn't know how long he had been in here. Hours, at least; his stomach was starting to rumble, his bladder was full, he was thirsty and tired. But sleep wouldn't come to him, not with the dread gnawing at his guts.
It would be all right, he tried to tell himself, keeping his courage as close as he could in the cold darkness of the small cell. They would come, interrogate him, and see he was a loyal pilot doing his job as well as he could.
But fear and doubt were difficult to keep at bay. Even diving into the flow of the Force hadn't helped him relax. The energy felt different here, dark and stifling, as if the bare metal walls were closing in on him. It was hard not to give in to despair.
Was it his newfound awareness of the Force that made him so sensitive? Or was he just imagining things, his mind derailing with fear of what would soon happen to him?
No, he was being dramatic. They would realise their error and let him return to service soon. Luke couldn't stand the thought of being mistaken for a Rebel. After all the death they had wrought, the pain they had dealt him and his squad, how could they ever think he'd want to help their deluded cause? He would gladly take any threat on his life, rather than this injustice and humiliation.
Yet the Emperor's words sounded on repeat in his head, every accusation like a bucket of cold water dropped on his insides.
Because it was true, all of it. He had no idea how they had found out his name or Biggs's forbidden meetings, but with the Empire's resources, he supposed the miracle was rather that it had remained secret for so long.
But what other choice had there been? Keep wasting away on his farm in the middle of nowhere, staring at the sky in melancholy as all his dreams flew away from him?
He was no longer sure his current situation was so much better. Rotting in a cell and waiting for he didn't know what...
The knot in his guts lurched, and he let out a shivering breath. He still had trouble believing this was happening to him.
But everything would be fine. He had no reason to be afraid. Rebel propaganda was just getting to his head, and he hated them for that, too. He loathed the nausea clogging his throat when he recalled their shocking videos, the way his heart raced at the thought of the mention "enhanced interrogation" on the prisoners' files. These were all lies, pretty scare tactics to impress new recruits. He was a fool to be so frightened.
He just wanted to fly...
A bitter smile found his lips. No, that hadn't been true for a long time, had it? He'd wanted to stop this war and make the galaxy a better place. He'd wanted to serve the Empire and its citizens, to make a difference in the world. He had fought and killed for it. He had chosen his side.
But for all the guilt he felt, he couldn't muster any true remorse. Could he go back and do it again, he would still let Biggs defect and lie about his name.
Because Biggs might be a Rebel, but he was also his childhood friend, the one who had supported him through and through. Because a Skywalker and a Jedi's son would have been apprehended right away. None of that changed his loyalty to the Empire, to his squadmates, and to Lord Vader, his teacher and commanding officer.
He wasn't a traitor. They might punish him for his actions, as he supposed they should, but they would understand he was on their side.
He had managed to calm down his nerves somewhat when the door to his cell swished open. Two troopers entered, helmeted and armed.
"Stand up with your hands in front of you," one of them ordered.
Luke obeyed without a word. The other soldier fastened binders around his wrists; his stomach jittered when the cold metal closed on his skin. A trooper took his upper arm, the other put his blaster between his ribs, and they marched him out of the cell. Luke didn't dare ask where they were taking him.
They led him through the ship's corridors. Luke thought he recognised a place or another, but he couldn't know for sure. The hallways all looked similar, and they were walking too fast for him to check the numbers on the walls.
Finally their path grew more familiar. They walked into the open area of the hangar, the very place where Luke had taken off with his TIE countless times, where he had been arrested earlier. There stood a three-winged shuttle, similar to the one that brought the Emperor.
Luke's step faltered, and his captors roughly pulled him forward. They were taking him away. Where were they taking him? Would he ever see Devastator again?
His heart skipped another beat when he looked near the access ramp. Vader was there, talking with a soldier. He held his back to him, seemed unaware of his presence.
He had to talk to him. Vader needed to know he wasn't a traitor, he was loyal, he'd never wanted to conceal information from him.
He knew the soldiers would restrain him if he were to shout, so he poured his cry into the Force. All his emotions, all his terror and determination bled into their bond.
Lord Vader!
The bond remained unresponsive. Luke slowed down, dug in his heels, fought against the soldiers trying to bring him onboard.
Lord Vader!
"Move, scum!"
One of the troopers yanked on his arm. He stumbled, took an involuntary step forward, then had no choice but to go on, heavy finality washing over him.
.
Darth Vader gripped the datapad tighter. He stared at it without seeing it, unaware of the officer's babbling about the file. Luke's presence was pounding against his, demanding his attention. He refrained from answering him, rage and wonder and resentment still raging in his mind.
My son.
How strange that two little words could turn someone's world upside down so much. His child lived... it was a liberating, exhilarating feeling. What a fool he had been never to see it... in hindsight, it was obvious. All along, it had been so clear their destinies belonged together. The Emperor's revelation had only disclosed a part of their bond that had always been there between them, buried.
It would have been perfect, hadn't it been for that other word, that foul and terrible word that came to destroy everything.
Traitor.
He had lied to him. He had deceived him and Vader hadn't seen anything. He had been so blind about everything surrounding that boy it was humiliating. Who knew what else he had concealed from him?
Oh, there would be no more. He would tear the very thought of hiding from him out of the boy's mind –
The thought was like a cold water shower. He remembered the promise he had made to him, so long ago, when each of his gestures brought a wary expression on the boy's face. He recalled vowing he was safe with him, desperately seeking his trust.
Vader knew about broken trust and betrayed promises.
"Thank you, Commander," he waved at the officer, wanting to be alone. The man bowed and hastened to walk away.
Vader was about to look at the files again when another soldier came to talk to him, wearing the black uniform of pilots.
"My lord, we are ready to depart."
Vader inclined his head and followed the man into the shuttle. There, in the back of the passengers hold, sat the boy, surrounded by two stormtroopers. He shot him a hopeful and desperate look; for a moment, Vader wished he could dismiss the pilot and steer the ship himself, if only to escape his presence.
He walked past his son without granting him a glance and sat down at the front of the compartment. A rough shove on his presence through their bond put an end to his attempts to contact him. Vader didn't turn to see the hurt and disappointment on his face.
He glanced down at the datapad again, skimming through the files. There were extended descriptions of his offences, with only suspicions and hunches for some of them, but which, all together, nonetheless painted an incriminating picture. Palpatine's agents had been thorough... Vader stared the longest at the document that had been found at his school on Tatooine, and that betrayed his real name.
It explained why he had found Obi-Wan living so close and yet so far away from the boy. He must have been watching over him, making sure he didn't follow in his father's footsteps. It still didn't tell him why he hadn't taken him as a Jedi apprentice, and sent him to kill Vader in ignorance of their ties. That sounded more like something Obi-Wan would do.
He gripped the screen so tight he thought he might break it. Obi-Wan had taken his son from him. He had brought him to live on this despicable planet, denying him his birthright and his family. It was but one more betrayal in the long list of his crimes against him, but it was a terrible one. To think he had lost so much time with his son... nineteen long years they could have spent together rather than separate, one devastated by grief and guilt, the other stuck in a place he didn't belong and dreaming to fly...
And now, because of Obi-Wan's deception, because of the boy's foolishness in upholding it, their time was running out.
Had Luke known about it? Had he been as ignorant of their connection as himself? The question was haunting Vader, but he didn't dare use the bond they shared to find an answer. He couldn't bear to find out the boy had been aware of their relationship all along and had simply concealed it from him.
The flight to Imperial Centre was both unbearably long and much shorter than Vader would have preferred. It took all his concentration to remain focused on his datapad and not to go to Luke. It was difficult to sit there and not move, when he knew his time with his son would soon be over. It could be the last chance they ever had to talk... the last occasion Vader had to tell him the truth, ask the same of him.
But he remained silent, facing forward, barely containing the boiling emotions that threatened to spill out.
The ship entered atmosphere and landed in the Imperial Palace's docking bay. He saw Luke be taken away by the troopers, his head held high but tension in his every muscle. Vader's eyes followed him until he was out of sight, and remained stuck on the door behind which he had disappeared.
The shape of the Emperor coming to greet him tore him from his thoughts. He buried them deep in his mind, and offered an impassive mask.
"Welcome, my friend," Sidious said. Like so often lately Vader hated the word, hated the softness in his voice. "I trust the transfer happened without trouble."
"Yes, my master. The boy didn't resist."
Vader didn't know why he felt the need to defend him. It was useless. He didn't deserve it.
"Good," the Emperor said. "You have read the files I sent you."
"Yes, master." Over and over, trying to find a way to deny it all. He hadn't. The facts were glaring at him, standing out black against white, small letters that had the weight of destiny.
"Then you know what must be done."
A stone fell in Vader's guts.
"Yes, master." The lack of emotion in the vocoder's words felt like a lie in itself.
"The boy is skilled, that needs to be recognised," the Emperor went on, as if he didn't notice Vader's turmoil. "Evidence of his involvement with the Rebellion is damning but mostly circumstantial. We need a confession from him, and most importantly, we need to find out what he knows and what he told the enemy."
The stone in Vader's entrails became something living and unpleasant.
"I would like to perform further analyses on the data we collected from Praadost," he answered. "We need to be certain nothing of the project has leaked. There are other interrogators."
"But you are the best of them," the Emperor said. "The boy is strong with the Force. You are the only one who could hope to break his defences."
Vader averted his eyes and crossed his arms. Palpatine took a step forward, and set a hand on his forearm.
"This is a great tragedy," he said. "I cannot imagine the ordeal it must be, to find out your child lived only to become your enemy..."
"It is nothing," Vader replied, waving his hand in irritation and getting rid of his master's touch in the same movement. "He is nothing to me."
It felt wrong to call the boy his enemy. He wanted to deny it, but found no argument. He had helped the Rebels... maybe he was even one himself. Part of him wanted to obey Sidious's command, to take that chance to yell at him, to strike him, to hurt him.
"Then you will not falter in your duty," the Emperor challenged.
Vader tightened his fists. There was nothing he could say to that.
"I will let you think about it," Palpatine said before Vader could find a proper comeback, a coldness in his voice that wasn't often directed at his apprentice. "I will follow your advice and have other people on him in the meantime, but I don't believe they will get anywhere."
He walked away. Vader took some time to unclench his fists, vaguely ashamed, then left as well, not without a last glance towards the cells.
.
He remained as far from the detention area as he could for the next three weeks. Nevertheless, his thoughts lingered there constantly, a heavy weight settling in his chest with no hint of leaving. He had taken care to shut down the bond he shared with his son, but to his dismay it had seemed to grow stronger the moment he learnt about his identity. From time to time, wisps of emotion came through the walls he had built between them, so strong they couldn't be blocked.
He crushed them down as soon as he felt them.
The Emperor gave him daily reports about their progress, or rather lack thereof. The boy gave them nothing, protested his innocence with his every breath. Sidious didn't comment on Vader's decision to stay away, but the displeasure was obvious in his voice.
Vader threw himself in the aftermath of the Praadost campaign. He combed the data for any trace of the Empire's secret project to try and discover what the Rebels knew of it. He had his best officers on the case, he spent his time in meetings with them, imagining all the possible scenarios. But what they had gathered on the site was scarce. Only so much information could be deduced out of it. For all they knew, the Rebels knew nothing, and the attack on the shuttle several months ago had been a blind shot.
He wished there was another mission: another sector to subdue, an uprising to snuff out, anything to bring him away from Imperial Centre and what was happening here. But he knew no other assignment would come: the Emperor had told him what was expected from him. And he was reduced to grasping at straws, writing and reading the same reports over and over.
It couldn't last forever. The time came when there was nothing left to analyse, no discovery to summarise, and he had to report his results.
The Emperor was as cold and distant as had become usual when Vader knelt at his feet. He said nothing, sitting motionless in his large throne as Vader exposed his conclusions. He was facing the window, his back to Vader, who couldn't see his face. But his disdain was all too obvious in his silence, hitting his apprentice like flowing waves of darts.
"It is unlikely the Rebels on Praadost discovered anything of worth," Vader finished.
His words fell in the silence. Sidious didn't say anything, and Vader remained kneeling, his heart drumming. His joints hurt, but less than the weight of guilt and dread that had been constricting his chest ever since he stepped foot on Imperial Centre.
"Good," the Emperor finally answered. "Maybe you can put this behind you at last."
He turned to Vader and rose.
"Skywalker still doesn't talk," he said. "He refuses to acknowledge his crimes, and claims he knows nothing about the Rebels – the same old song they all sing."
Vader repressed an exasperated gesture. The boy, always the boy! His master was more obsessed with him than he accused him of being, at this point.
"If he is as stubborn as his father, it could still be weeks before he breaks."
Vader gritted his teeth. He knew what the Emperor was saying.
"I was otherwise occupied, master. I have other duties –"
"Duties you drew out for the sole purpose of avoiding this," the Emperor snapped. "But now that this matter is resolved, you should have more time to devote to what I ask of you, shouldn't you?"
Vader looked away.
The Emperor sighed, and came closer to him.
"Do not lie to yourself, my friend, or to me," he whispered. "You care about that boy. Somehow he has grown on you like a leech, a parasite. You are paralysed by the control you gave him with all the soft-heartedness of a fool. He makes you weak."
Each of his words hit Vader like an arrow, at the very heart of their target. It was all true. Vader knew it, didn't need him to mock him with his own shortcomings, to belittle him and hurt him that way.
"I am not weak –"
"You are," Sidious cut him off. "You always have been. I sometimes wonder what I saw in you, back when I took you in and offered to teach you."
He looked Vader up and down, and there was such contempt in his gaze Vader could only lower his eyes, anger rising in him. He hated feeling so worthless and small, like he was nine years old again, lost and having the impression he could never belong.
"Is this the Sith Lord I trained, shaking in his boots at the mere thought of disciplining an insurgent?"
"No –" Vader choked out. His fists were clenched so hard his prosthetics were trembling. "No."
He dared a glance upwards at his master's face. The Emperor took a step forward and put a hand on his shoulder, a sad smile on his lips.
"Look at yourself," he whispered. "Look at what he did to you. What a mess his betrayal made you."
Vader let his head fall down again, a whirlwind slashing against his chest. He wanted nothing more, at this moment, than to seize his master and throw him to the other side of the room.
He was right, as much as Vader wanted to deny it. Ever since the boy's arrest, he had been a wreck, a weakling.
He should have pushed him away from the very beginning. He should have finished the job that day when he had strangled him, overcome by anger at his insolence. But the boy had prodded at his boundaries, pretended he cared. The smiles and the wonder, the curious questions, the concerned enquiries about Empire Day... what of it had been true? Had it been nothing but schemes designed to soften him, to make his lower his guard so he could pursue his traitorous acts in secret?
He was his son. He was a traitor. It shouldn't hurt as much as it did.
"What power he has over you..."
"He has none!" Vader roared like a wounded beast, standing up and glaring at his master.
It was the boy's fault, for betraying the Empire, for keeping quiet about his name, for sneaking in Vader's heart to better shatter it.
"Then go," replied the Emperor, implacable. "Do what must be done, and give him what he deserves for his crimes against you."
Vader didn't reply, tense and stiff, hands still balled into tight fists.
Show no mercy. Do not hesitate.
He should do it. He should punish that boy for what he had done. Never before had he shied before his duty. He had done far, far worse things than this without batting an eye. And now he would cower out, just for the sake of a boy, a Rebel, a criminal?
He turned around and marched out of the room, pushing a Red Guard out of his way with the Force. Fury was pounding in his skull, loathing overwhelming his chest. He focused on it, revelled in the feeling of vicious power it gave him.
It would find an outlet, and soon.
The prison under the Imperial Palace was as sinister and sterile as any Imperial ship's, if more ancient, and it was a labyrinth. It took Vader some time to arrive at the control room of the block where Skywalker was held. When he crossed the threshold of the room, all the officers present jumped at attention.
"Lord Vader," the highest ranking man said, "you are doing us an honour."
They were five frowning men, dressed in the white uniforms of the ISB with rank insignias on their chests despite not being part of the military proper. Vader's stomach lurched when he saw the dark brown stains on the sleeve of one of them.
"Spare me the pleasantries, Major," Vader retorted, pointing a finger at him. "I am here to inspect your progress on Skywalker."
The man swallowed, and his face took a sour expression.
"It is slow, my lord," he said. Vader waved impatiently, too accustomed to this kind of euphemism. It seemed interrogation officers were the same everywhere, anxious to provide elaborate words to cover for their own failures. "He is a tough nut to crack all right, but I have no doubt we will get what we are looking for. We are working on him as we speak."
"He is currently being questioned?" Vader asked.
"We have hardly stopped since he arrived. It is but a matter of time."
"I hope so, Major, for your sake," Vader said, crossing his arms. He wanted results, and he wanted them now. "What have you already tried on him?"
"The standard procedure, my lord," the man replied. "Minimum food and sleep and the usual drugs."
Vader knew the process well: wear him down, make him slip, confuse him until he confessed.
"His reaction?"
The major licked his lips, nervous.
"Defiance, mostly, sir," he said. "That one has quite the cheek; we've had to beat it out of him several times."
Vader's heart missed a beat. He recognised Lars well there...
He crushed the feeling with a vengeance. The boy was just another prisoner, another Rebel unlucky enough to get caught. Nothing else.
"Perhaps other methods are required to subdue him," he suggested, cold hatred rushing in his veins, bringing familiar bloodlust. "Electric shocks?"
"We have tried that too, sir," the man hurried to say. His anxiety was growing by the minute. "I have an agent in; she should soon be done."
"In your own interest, let us hope she is having some success," Vader said. He had trouble refraining from seizing the officer's neck and throwing him against the wall.
A couple of minutes passed in tense silence as they waited for the interrogator to come out. The atmosphere was reeking with fear, to the satisfaction of Vader's terrible mood. If only the boy could see reason, make their work easier. Then he wouldn't have to go in himself...
Finally, a frail woman with dark red hair and pinched lips exited the room, a small device in her hand. She looked tired and had a frustrated look on her face, but opened wide eyes when she saw Vader standing there. Vader just looked down on her in silence, already knowing she wasn't bringing good news.
"So? What'd he say?" another interrogator said, oblivious to her fright.
Irritation flashed through her eyes, but she relaxed as she reported her attention on her colleague.
"Always the same thing," she spat. "The little brat still hasn't understood nobody's fooled by his game."
The men exchanged glances.
"Maybe you just didn't strike hard enough," a massive man said. "He's got to give it up sooner or later."
"Oh, he got what was coming to him," she darkly said, glaring at him. "Why don't you try yourself if you know so well what to do?"
"Sure will," the man retorted. "Just watch. I'll make him open his pretty little mouth and tell us everything we want."
There was laughter.
"Yeah, give it to him," another man said.
The woman threw the electric device to the first man. He caught it, and was already half upright when the major interrupted him.
"Before you hurry, perhaps Lord Vader wants to take the next turn?"
Vader froze. He should go; but something was still holding him back, making him hesitate.
"Oh, let your man go, Major; I do not think Lord Vader feels quite right for that at the moment," a voice behind him said.
He swirled around and saw the Emperor approaching them with something like shame inside his chest. Had he been watching him ever since he had come here? Had he somehow felt his reluctance?
The officers paled and sprung to their feet again, jumping at attention even quicker than they had done for Vader.
"Your Majesty," the major breathed out.
The Emperor didn't pay them any attention. He came to stand next to Vader.
"I may have been wrong in asking this of you," he said, in the gentlest voice Vader had ever heard him use. "You are upset by the whole thing, as is only natural. You are welcome to go back on Devastator, if you so prefer. I can find other assignments for you."
Vader frowned, his fists tightening in spite of himself. What was he playing at now? He never talked to him with such carefulness, such consideration, like a fragile thing one doesn't want to break.
He looked at the other people present in the room. Their expressions varied between carefully neutral, confused, and astonished. He didn't doubt they would laugh about it as soon as he left the room, unable to believe they saw Darth Vader run away like a coward. He was hardly appreciated in the lower ranks of the Empire; they would delight in his humiliation.
Rage grew in him again, ferocious, devastating. He would show them what he was capable of. He would not let himself be ruled by weakness.
"Such a tragedy, really," the Emperor continued. "That he should turn out as traitorous as Kenobi, so skilled at pretending to care about you, while going about his illegal business right under your nose... that he managed to deceive you in this way..."
He sighed, but it sounded wrong, empty, fake. A thousand needles embedded themselves in Vader's skin. The underlying message was all too clear: Vader shouldn't have been so blind. He should have seen, should have understood, should have stopped him.
He shouldn't care about someone who so little deserved it.
"... he is much like his mother in that regard."
Vader saw red. Pain and blood boiled in his veins, pounded in his ears with murderous intent. Before he knew it, he was halfway to the boy's cell.
The young man was lying on his back on a small slab of metal, breathing hollowly. His head was tilted on the side, his eyes closed, his brow furrowed, his mouth half-open. An ugly bruise smeared his cheek purple; Vader suspected there were more where he couldn't see them. When he heard the door open, his whole body tensed, and he looked up in alarm. His hardened expression fell when he saw who his visitor was.
"Lord Vader," he breathed, relief overcoming his hoarse voice.
He struggled to get to his feet and put himself at attention then took note of Vader's stony posture. He frowned, prodded at their bond, noticed it was still closed off.
"At ease," Vader rumbled, ice cold, with a hint of sarcasm. "Such pomp is unnecessary in the circumstances."
The droid came whizzing into the room, followed by the two guards who placed themselves on both sides of the door, blocking any escape. The boy paled, his jaw clenching.
"I've already said everything I knew," he said, looking him in the eye. "I know nothing about the Rebels."
Vader tilted his head and observed him, rage boiling low and cold in his stomach. The boy was squinting under the harsh light of the cell, deep bags under his eyes, his face and temples sweating. His uniform was torn in places, stained with darker marks and hanging open at the front of his chest, which brought back bitter memories of when they first met. He was swaying on his feet, but standing proudly, his head high.
He was putting up a brave front, but Vader saw the deep-seated fear in his pupils, the frightened, knowing expectation. Gone were his joyful spirit and cockiness. His stubbornness lay plain, his gaze was unflinching.
Oh, he was going to need that courage.
"You would expect me to believe that," Vader answered, still in that icy voice.
He took a step forward, relishing the feeling of tightly held fury in his guts, ready to be unleashed at a moment's notice. The boy jerked back, fell down sitting on the slab.
"How long have you deceived me, Skywalker?"
The boy gasped when he heard his name. He shook his head slightly.
"You don't understand. I never meant to lie to you."
"I understand all too well," Vader replied, merciless, bending over him in menace and intimidation. The boy raised his arms to protect himself, but Vader grasped his wrists and held them with just enough pressure to make him uncomfortable. Terror crossed his features for the shortest second. "The Empire does not forgive traitors and enemies. You will not escape justice."
Skywalker stared him straight in the eye, his jaw set, fire and steel in his gaze.
"I'm no enemy," he said. "I didn't betray."
Vader shoved him against the wall.
"Empty words will not save your skin!" he roared. He squeezed his wrists tighter, pushing them in his chest. Skywalker winced, struggled not to cry out. "You helped Rebels in their efforts against us! You lied and faked your identity! No grovelling will spare you the consequences of your actions!"
The boy closed his eyes and swallowed, dry tongue running over parched lips, only fuelling Vader's rage. The nerve of him, the sheer boldness, to try and deny months of lies and deception! Did he think a few sentences would be enough to fix his predicament? Was he deluded enough to imagine anything could mend what he had done, change who he was, the threat hanging upon his head because of his identity?
One word, had it passed his lips but days earlier, one name would have been enough to save him. Vader would have hidden him, would have made sure his master could never find him. They could have had so much time together, so many opportunities to learn about each other as a family. The life Vader had fantasised about for so long, everything that he had lost and grieved for during nineteen years had been right in front of him. One word from his son was all it would have taken to give it back to him.
But he hadn't.
The boy swallowed again.
"I'm not afraid," he said, his voice thick and defiant. "I've never betrayed you, never, I –"
Vader threw him across the room. The boy hit the wall and tumbled on the floor at his feet.
"Do not lie to me!"
His whole body shaking, the young man pushed himself up on his knees to look up at him.
"It is true! I didn't –"
Vader cut off his breath. The boy put a hand to his throat, his mouth opening and closing in desperate attempts to get oxygen in his lungs.
"I want the truth, boy, and you will give it to me!"
He released him. The youth fell forward on his hands, gasping and gulping for air.
Towering over him, Vader extended his hand and took hold of his wrists through the Force. The boy trashed about, but Vader didn't let him free. He forced him on his knees again, turned him around to face the wall and brought his hands behind his back.
He didn't want to see his face.
The dark side was billowing around them, eager, stifling. Vader hurled the Force at him, whipping him, hitting him. He pressed down on his mind, demanding entrance, ripping and tearing at shields of steel. Cold tendrils wrapped themselves around the boy's limbs, his chest, his head; they held him in place, squeezing and crushing him with unbearable strength.
The boy grunted, caught in violent convulsions.
"No, no, no –"
The guards looked away as he screamed.