A/N: Sorry about the delay and thank you to everyone for your lovely support. It means a lot to hear your thoughts and feedback. A note about this chapter: I ripped some of the dialogue directly from the game and changed some of it slightly. In the future, I intend to do a lot more tweaking to the dialogue, since this is, after all, a fic and not the game itself. If you're looking for a transcript, look on youtube. Now, without further ado...

The first thing Bastila became aware of was the pain. It raced along her muscles, recalling unpleasant memories of being subdued by stun batons. They had not stopped until she was unconscious. They had probably continued long after as well.

But she was a Jedi. She could focus through the pain. She was undoubtedly a captive, evidenced not only by the vague memories of her capture, but also by the cuffs that shackled her wrists and ankles to the unforgiving metal wall behind her. She needed to take stock. She reached for the Force shakily, sensing her surroundings as much as she could with her mind disoriented as it was.

There were three beings in the room with her, none of them connected to the Force in any meaningful way. Two of them were flanking the third, marking him as the one in charge.

Three? That's all there were? Did he not know she was a Jedi or was he just that bold?

"The drugs should be working by now. I know you're awake."

Drugs? Now that she was paying attention, she could feel that her heart rate was elevated and her adrenalin levels were higher than they should be.

Regardless, the charade of being asleep was of no use to her anymore. She opened her eyes and studied her captors. The leader's posture spoke of brash, unconcerned confidence. He had both hands in his pockets and a calculating expression on his face.

He didn't even consider her a threat.

Feeling thoroughly insulted now, Bastila gritted her teeth. "You do not honestly think that you can get away with this."

The leader laughed, firm in his apparent superiority. "Who's gonna stop me? Your precious Jedi Order?"

"Precisely."

"Not on a Sith-ruled world, girlie." He gave her a deliberate moment to process that information. Though shocked and worried, Bastila made certain that he wouldn't see any of that in her expression. Her mind spun to come up with some useful response to that, but he was now walking towards her. Her eyes narrowed.

He stopped right in front of her. So close, in fact, that the foul scent of his breath was impossible to escape or ignore- as was his pronounced leer. After giving her a look-over, he leaned in even closer and whispered, "I wonder how much money that body of yours could make me on the slave market?"

"You expect to sell a Jedi on the slave market?" Bastila asked dubiously. The idea was patently absurd.

He backed off and smirked at her. "It ain't a bad idea. Keeps you outta Sith hands and anything that makes them mad makes me happy."

"And what is to stop me from killing you?"

He raised a hand close to her jaw and she had to focus very hard to stay perfectly still as he ran a finger along some sort of collar latched around her neck. She wondered a moment just what it was for. "Just try."

Rolling her eyes at the theatrics, she reached for the Force and ordered, "You will let me go."

One of the others raised a device. He hit a switch on it and suddenly Bastila's world dissolved into static.

Her captors, especially the leader, were talking, but the words seemed to just fly by her head without reaching her brain. Every thought she began got swallowed up before it could be finished.

At some point, they left, though Bastila was in no state to even notice. Eventually, she slipped into unconsciousness, though the change was not a particularly pronounced one.

She dreamed of fragments of her encounter with Revan. Every part seemed disjointed and cut-short and just wrong.

When she awoke, she fared no better against the mental interruptions than she had before she had fallen asleep. She tried to focus and as minutes turned to hours, she began turning to her meditation mantras. They were so rote and basic to her that even with the interference, she was able to continue. In fact, it was like all those times she had meditated in the gardens of the Dantooine enclave with the apprentices constantly disrupting the peace.

They came in with food but she didn't even notice until the mush was being shoved in her mouth. Her jaw and throat worked on automatic, which was lucky because Bastila couldn't have concentrated on the task to save her life.

The most important Jedi in the war against the Sith and she was being spoonfed by some nobody gangster.

It was humiliating.

But just as soon as the thought entered her consciousness, it was as though a bolt of electricity shocked her brain and the entire train of thought slipped away from her.

Wait, was she being spoonfed by a…

Indignation rose again, only to fall away suddenly as the process repeated.

Eventually, the forced-feeding ended and she was left alone with her disjointed thoughts.

Time passed. Minutes, maybe hours, flew by. The sense of time was utterly lost upon the captive Jedi.

Sleep claimed her once more.

Waking came with a painful stiffness in her neck and joints. Mostly, her neck hurt from hanging forward as she slept. The pain, surprisingly, helped. With it to focus on, she was slowly able to overcome the interruptions. She began to move in the limited range that her shackles allowed, flexing her neck from side to side and rolling her shoulders. Her weary muscles protested the actions.

She returned to her mental meditation routines, but before she finished them, another goon came in with her meal.

More able to focus, Bastila was rewarded by noticing just how tasteless the mush was. It was a discovery she could have done without. Similarly, she found herself glowering in humiliation. Her captor was only further fuelled by her hatred, smirking superiorly in response.

No, she was a Jedi. Jedi did not give into hatred. She chanted the Jedi mantra as her mouth worked automatically devouring the muck being spooned into it.

No, she did not hate her captor. She merely disliked him with extreme prejudice.

Another day passed and with it, Bastila's resistance to the mental interruptions grew. When she was truly focusing , she could follow her thoughts through with consistency. She could also now pay attention to her surroundings. Unfortunately, there wasn't much there to pay attention to. She was in a bare holding cell. It smelled foul.

Which, she realized, was because she smelled foul.

For the sake of her sanity (and her pride), she decided not to think about it.

Unfortunately, it also made her realize that she really needed to pee.

Instead, she turned her attention to the Force, trying to access it. The first mental interruption was enough to break her concentration. So, she tried again.

And again.

And again.

When the fifth try fared no better than the first, Bastila gave up in frustration, letting her thoughts drift away. She wondered if any of the crew of the Endar Spire had made it off alive…

The door to her cell opened with an obnoxious clang. It interrupted her thoughts more surely than the thrice-accursed collar.

Striding into the room like he hadn't a care in the world was the man she had pinned as being responsible for her predicament. He wrinkled his nose at the smell and muttered something to himself under his breath. He watched her for a moment before letting out a sharp whistle. Two of his peons came at the call.

He gestured to her. "Get her cleaned up for the race tomorrow." After a moment, he added in a dangerous tone, "And if I find out that you've… damaged the merchandise in any way, I will kill you both in the most painful way possible."

"Yes, Brejik." The two of them moved past their leader to carry out his commands.

Oh, Force, Bastila swore silently. This can't be happening…

*.*.*

The cage at the race track proved to be a more than welcome change of scenery, though Bastila was not nearly as appreciative of the wardrobe change. Thanks to the leader's threat, no harm had come to her, save to her pride. Regardless, she had worked through the night to improve her concentration. By the time morning came around, she was capable of accessing the Force as well as could be expected, given the circumstances.

Now, it was just a matter of waiting for the right time to make her move. The racetrack would hopefully provide the perfect opportunity, especially since this "Brejik" character hadn't thought her enough of a threat to restrain, trusting her collar to handle that.

Her wits were collected enough for her to realize the best way to find this opportunity was to pretend as though she was completely incapable. It was not a hard charade to pull off, but doing so while maintaining her awareness of the surroundings was proving a strain with the neural disruptor's continual interruptions.

There was a guard standing directly outside of her cage, equipped with a dual-blade, something she could use to her advantage if a fight broke out. Dual-blades were her specialty, after all, though she obviously preferred her lightsaber.

Already, she had heard the guard "discouraging" one or two people who got too close.

She could hear the race announcements, though paid them no heed. She was looking for any sort of distraction she could use to her advantage, and that would be most obvious by looking at the people around her. She did notice that one racer seemed to be causing quite a bit of fuss by breaking all sort of records. But what did she care? She needed to free herself before some random racer claimed her as some sort of prize.

Unfortunately, the race was coming to a close and she had not seen a single viable opening. The guard outside her cage was being unnaturally vigilant. However, to simply break free without either a plan or a distraction to cover her escape would be suicide.

A roar of cheers went up. Listening to the announcer for a moment, she realized that the race had been won. Now was her chance. She reached for the Force and felt the comforting presence and power at her fingertips. With a thought, the collar was ripped in two.

The absence of the neural disruptions was the most liberating thing Bastila had ever experienced. She felt a wave of adrenalin rush through her. Now that she was free, none of these thugs could stop her. She was a Jedi, and she would show them exactly what that meant.

Brejik was making some longwinded speech. She felt disdain for his egotistical confidence. He wouldn't be so self-assured if he knew she was free. When she heard him talk about selling her on the slave market, however, she had heard more than enough.

"I might have something to say about that, Brejik!" she proclaimed, her words backed by all the confidence of having the Force back at her fingertips. As such, it was mere child's play to tear open the door to her cage using the force and subdue the guard.

Yes, his weapon would do quite nicely. At least, it would until she found her lightsaber.

Brejik was sputtering in disbelief, blabbering on about the neural disruptor collar. Yes, it had been a large obstacle to overcome, but Bastila was a Jedi and she was more powerful than a piece of technology.

"You underestimate the strength of a Jedi's mind, Brejik – a mistake you won't live to regret!"

She brandished the weapon she had acquired, testing its heft and weight as Brejik ordered his thugs to kill her.

Flushed with power, she dispatched any Vulkar she came across with disdain. They had deigned to keep her prisoner. Now they would reap the consequences. She was so focused on the task of battling her way through to Brejik that she didn't notice until halfway through the fight that she wasn't the only one battling. The other combatant felt vaguely familiar, but Bastila paid the feeling no heed, focusing instead on her opponents.

They ended up somehow back to back and still Bastila had not gotten a good look at her ally. In fact, Bastila was rather sure that it was, in fact, the racer Brejik had shortchanged, making this "ally", in fact, her enemy. For now they fought together, but she couldn't let her guard down for an instant.

The blade was growing heavy in Bastila's arms as Brejik's supply of goons was exhausted. She had not slept the night before and she was making full use of both her adrenalin and the Force to keep herself one step ahead. Now, all that was left was Brejik himself and the mysterious "ally". Bastila had been looking forward to this for days.

Before she could act, however, the other combatant engaged the Vulkar leader in combat, drawing him in with a feint before bringing the vibroblade around in a brutally efficient slash. Brejik fell to the ground, clutching at his bleeding thigh. There was not a moment's hesitation before the same blade cleaved through his neck.

Bastila stood there, stunned. This… this racer had just deprived Bastila of her revenge.

But no. She was a Jedi. Jedi do not seek revenge; only justice. So, if justice was served, Bastila would have to be satisfied with that. Somehow, the idea tasted sour.

"I suppose he got what he deserved," she muttered- without, of course, any bitterness at all. But there was still the matter of the racer to deal with. "As for you," she said, turning to her once-ally. "If you think you can just claim me as a prize…"

By the Force! Revan!

Bastila found herself forgetting the end of her sentence in absolute shock. What was Revan doing here? What was Revan doing racing swoop of all things?

"Wait… I don't believe this..." she muttered.

"Not exactly the 'thank you' I was hoping for," Revan remarked dryly.

No, Bastila reminded herself. Not Revan. What was her name again?

Frantically, Bastila tried to buy herself some time as she came up for a plan to deal with this surprising turn of events. "You're… you're one of the soldiers with the Republic fleet… aren't you?"

That didn't sound incompetent at all. No, she needed to take control of this situation and to do that, she needed to understand what was going on. "Why are you racing for a swoop gang, of all things?"

Revan was looking at her oddly. "I was told it was my duty as a Republic Soldier to get you off this planet. This seemed the most efficient way of getting to you."

This was the great Revan. The Sith Lord. The Revanchist. And the best she could come up with for a rescue plan was to participate in a swoop race?

Clearly the Jedi Masters hadn't done a very good job.

"This was your plan? You trusted him to just hand me over? What if I hadn't broken out of my restraints? You would have been fighting alone against all of Brejik's men. Is this your idea of a rescue attempt?"

"We don't have time for this," Revan replied disdainfully, turning to leave and seemingly expecting Bastila to follow. "Carth is waiting for us," she added as she walked away.

Bastila's rising irritation was quashed by Carth's name. So the captain had survived. "Carth? Carth Onasi?" she clarified. The lack of a response seemed to indicate that the Carth in question was, in fact, Captain Onasi. "Finally, some good news. Carth is one of the Republic's best soldiers. Was he the one that sent you here?"

Revan didn't respond. Bastila wondered if it was because she was put off by the criticism of her rescue 'plan'. Perhaps she had been too quick to judge. This was Revan, after all. Perhaps she simply did not know all of the details. So, swallowing her pride, she apologized. "Forgive me – despite my Jedi training, I still tend to act a bit rashly sometimes." Something the masters often criticized her for.

Still no response. Bastila tried once more. "I am certain that between the three of us we can figure out some way to get off this planet before the Sith realize we're here."

When no reply was forthcoming, Bastila took the hint and shut up.

Just wonderful. It was their first time talking and Bastila already felt like a disobedient apprentice again. This mission was going so very well…