I do not own Star Wars.
In the dark, sound became clearer. Without the distraction of sight—so many different shapes and colors to focus on—sound came to the forefront of the brain's awareness and sharpened to an almost painful clarity.
Shades pressed his eyes closed as hard as he could, then opened them. There was no difference. He could see nothing, only the small bursts of light and color that the brain produced for the eyes to see in total darkness. Even the glow of the orange force fields covering the cell doors was gone, dampened down to nonexistence for the night. Shades had no idea if it was actually night outside, or how many days had passed since he'd been arrested for treason and thrown into this cell. All he knew was that six cycles of lights-out had passed, and each felt like an eternity.
But even though this was supposed to be a sleep cycle, the sounds persisted. Moans, groans, inarticulate wails, and garbled screams bubbled out of the dark and crawled through Shades's mind, chasing away sleep until he simply passed out from exhaustion.
What happens when you depend on another being for something, for shelter, guidance, or companionship? What happens when another becomes a fixture in your life? What happens when they become important—no, necessary—for your happiness? What happens when you become attached to another being?
The food was discussing, grayish-blue gruel that churned sloppily in Shades stomach when he forced it down. But he had to eat something, and it was all the prisoners got.
This is the teaching of the Jedi: you cannot rely on another being for completeness. They will fail you. They may lie to you. They may cheat you and steal from you. They may forget you. They may arrive too early or too late. They may hurt you through intention or simply through absentmindedness. But in the end, the result is the same; they will fail you, and you will be left behind.
The questions started after fourteen sleep cycles. The same magna guards that had put Shades in the cell dragged him out and took him to a room that looked a lot like the one Wiley had questioned him in. They fastened him into the containment field and left. Not long after, an Imperial officer and an interrogation droid entered.
Shades didn't like the superior sneer on the officer's face, like he thought being a randomly conceived being made him superior to a clone. Come a little closer, meat sack, and I'll show you what superior looks like. But the look of the interrogation droid sent shivers down his spine and made the fire of indignation die in his stomach. It was a small, black spheroid with randomly blinking white lights on its surface and a lethal looking needle protruding from its front. The needle was pointing right at him.
The sound proofed door locked behind them.
So, what happens when another person becomes so integral to your existence that you as you are couldn't exist without them?
Shades's body ached. The scorch marks on his ribs burned. His torn muscles cried with every movement. His stomach groaned from lack of food, and his head throbbed from too little sleep.
He needed food. He needed rest. He needed a break from the endless cycles of interrogation. But no matter how badly he hurt physically, Shades's heart ached even more with worry for his brother.
Fib wasn't eating. Shades had managed to coax him into forcing down the disgusting substance that passed for food here the first few days, but now he refused to eat anything. Fib had never been fat—no clone was—but now Shades could easily see the outline of the medic's ribs against his bruised, pale skin.
When they are gone…what is left of you?
The longer they were in this Force-forsaken prison, the less responsive Fib became. He barely slept at all now, just sat huddled in a corner, his eyes hot and feverish as he stared at nothing. Shades tried to talk to him, and sometimes he answered, but most of the time he didn't even seem to hear.
Shades could only imagine the feelings this place must be radiating to Fib through the Force: horror, pain, despair, insanity. Whatever the medic was feeling, Shades could plainly see that it was killing him.
Who am I kidding? I'm not doing so hot either. Neither of us is going to last much longer like this. But what do we do? What can we do?
His eyes wandered vaguely around the large prison space, not looking for anything in particular. Movement a few levels up caught Shades's attention. The magna guards were making their rounds, as predictable as a Toydarian's lie. Memories of the few missions that had pitched Renegade Company against similar droids surfaced sluggishly in Shades's tired mind.
Suddenly, something clicked into place.
Shades sat up so fast that his bruised and torn muscles screamed in protest. His body was weak from lack of sleep, improper nourishment, and almost continuous cycles of physical abuse, and he had to lean back against the wall as his vision blurred and grayed alarmingly. But none of that mattered.
He had a plan.
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mad'ika