Bad Day
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Ahsoka felt cold. With her sight blurred and vaguely aware of her surrounding, she tried to twist her way around to get more comfortable. And yet her arms refused to bid to her wishes as if they had a mind of their own, limping at her sides and immobile despite her mental urgings. Tossing that objective aside for now, Ahsoka moved her strength to her neck and turn it to the side where all that became viewable was grim bright white. At first, Ahsoka didn't worry to hard until her mind started retaining the last few hours that had occurred before everything went black. The ambush. The crash. Everything came back in a flux after the temporary amnesia, followed by numerous questions flooding her thoughts.
Where was Plo Koon? Where were her men? Where was she? Including the whereabouts of the Separatists warships that ambushed them out of nowhere.
Slowly regaining her senses, passive echolocation alerted the Togruta of movement fluctuating from beneath her resting position—and around her. She looked up and was utterly shocked by the sight before her. Equipped with blasters, Ahsoka was staring face to face with droids. Separatist's droids.
Ahsoka's blue eyes widened. She tried to get off the gurney, but even the situation didn't process to her arms to move until her eyes darted at the cuffs that were incapacitating them from usage.
Ahsoka tried to speak, which sounded like sandpaper. "Where. . . where are you taking me?" She breathed hoarsely. Her throat felt like sandpaper.
No response.
"I demand to know where you are taking me."
Again, no response.
Then without warning the gurney gave to a blunt stop, Ahsoka felt her whole body surge painfully whence it did, hissing at her captors for doing that to her.
What's going on? Where's master Plo Koon? Where's the fleet?
Dozen of questions were surging through her head as the droids—her ironic rescuers—were examining her curiously beneath her scorched burned youngling attire. Why should they though? She was their enemy. Then again, she heard that these things were quite insufficient intelligence-wise.
"Begin casting, operating with extreme caution."
"Roger, roger."
Operating?
"What's going on?" rasped Ahsoka, now writhing from their touches and prodding. "Don't touch me."
"Be still—Togruta. Any further unwanted movements will result in a failed lung—and a broken arm."
But Ahsoka was too engulfed in her own fear and confusion than to hear the vocals of a droid manufactured to kill. Quickly, Ahsoka felt for the force, and pushed the nearest droid with a scalpel crushing into the wall. A red siren went off, and not a moment later more droids came in to hold Ahsoka down. She continued to squirm, however, despite the appendages holding her in place.
Accidently, she detached a needle that was already injecting fluids in her right arm. That was when Ahsoka felt the real pain. She gave to a bloody shriek and attempted to claw at her arm, which, soon after made the rest of her body turn to fire.
A shot plunged in Ahsoka's neck. She could feel the sedative coursing through her veins like poison. The effects started to eat away her energy, forcing Ahsoka to slowly relax into submission and allow the droids to continue with their prodding. The last physical sensation Ahsoka felt was a gas mask being placed over her mouth
Master Plo Koon. Save me.
With a forced gulp of air through her lips, Ahsoka slipped back into darkness.
When at last the Togruta went limp, the droids made way for the medical droid with the necessary medicine and syringes neatly placed over it's erect pelvic mount—and an elderly humanoid man well over his late sixties with a black silken cape draping over his form who stared with a cold, collected gazed towards the child before him. If any of the droids had the slightest micro-scrap of independent intelligence in their processors, they would have noticed—if attentive—a small smile hiding under the elderly man's silver beard.
Meanwhile, what was left of the battle that had taken place hours before were near finished. What was left of the Republic's small fleet floated in space aimlessly as the planet near by provided a sullen blood-red fluorescent light emitting from it—adding to the dark atmosphere as the Separatists fleets finished off the last surviving squadrons who refused to retreat.
Aboard the Separatist's fleet's main flagship, all infantry battle droids were toiling the nava-computers and other computers. Signaled beforehand that their commander was moments from entering the bridge, the droids immediately stopped what they were doing and saluted as their Supreme Commander entered through the bridges elevator and made his way to center of the bridge. With a hunched posture that made his grey, silken cape drape over his cyborg form, General Grievous witnessed with his own eyes the outcome of the battle. For a moment, he took in the results, then rumbled in sadistic content for the Republic's lack of strength.
The Clone Wars had just begun, not soon after, so had General Grievous' reign of terror. Released and free to utilize the full power given to him by his superiors, Grievous didn't take not even a second moment of hesitation to involve himself in the war. His master, Count Dooku, has since supervised most of the assignments given to him at a certain degree, but even that would irate the general. He didn't have a problem with being watched, merely, he disliked the concept of his master lack of confidence with his general's competence of getting the assignment completed to the letter. But by sheer luck, the Count was gone in his own personal affairs and the general was free to act independently until his master's return.
"What is the current situation," swiftly demanded the general from no one in particular.
One of the droids answered, "the last unit of the Republic squadrons are being dealt with as we speak, as well as any survivors—as you've requested."
"Good. I do not want survivors. My master wants these transactions to proceed unexploited." The cyborg was answered with the common phrase, "Roger, roger," before proceeding. "Once all transactions are completed, reroute and set our hyperdrive co-ordinates to the nearest safe zone for any immediate repairs."
"Roger, roger."
Satisfied with the competence these droids rarely expressed, Grievous sauntered toward his seat to sharpen his focus on any other matter he thought necessary.
What was supposed to be a perfect undisturbed trade ended with the evacuation of all agencies and members. All trade halted. All events occurring after grievous' master left him to deal with things on his own. And that was just kriffing spectacular. All the general needed was another excuse to be supervised all the more.
And the Jedi and their filthy Republic scum. They were as much to blame for this since they were the cause of it.
Grievous felt his talons begin to grate into the metal floor just by the word Jedi. He had nothing but pure malevolent hatred for them. Their religion of the Force, their so-called claims of keeping the peace and balance, all but words meant to gain the trust and place in politics and intrude in matters better suited for senates.
Dangling from his belt were the trophies Grievous collected from each Jedi he killed, their lightsabers. So far, he had quite a few, the four adoring his belt his more favored.
And that's all the Jedi were good for. Sports. Not politics.
A sudden shake of the ship's hull, and everything else followed soon after.
"General?"
Not even following to where the voice came from, the general regarded with a harsh and irritated, "What?"
"One of the clones managed to disrupt our hyperdrive before self-terminating himself."
"And the hyperdrive. Is it operational?"
"No, sir," the droid hesitated. "It requires immediate repairs before we can successfully jump into Separatists space."
His chest rumbling with his anger, Grievous swiftly ordered the droids to fix the blasted hyperdrive via nava-computer. It was the simplest, and easiest method . . . recommended especially to droids. The droids followed Grievous' instructions well. Tacking away at the nava-computer with dexterous efforts. Like an expected event that required the involvement of the droids stupidity, sparks flew and dashed around the computer systems. One of the droids who foolishly did not step in time overloaded on contact and was sent flying halfway through the bridge.
Patience wearing, and under enough pressure already, Grievous understood that he was having one of those days. A bad day.
Ahsoka on the other hand, was having a bad day the moment she began to regain consciousness. She awoke with a start. A startled start. And after recalling the previous events that occurred before her forced slumber, Ahsoka gasped and looked around her surrounding to find the droids that held her down. There was none from where she could see. Thankfully. Off to the side, Ahsoka saw the computers that were keeping her heartbeat and breathing in check, as well as the sedatives.
Oh. Oh. As if the sight of the sedatives was the trigger, Ahsoka began to feel the numbness coming from her arm. It wasn't a bad feeling. But it wasn't good either.
Sniff. Sniff. And what was that smell?
It was her. Her and her burnt stained youngling attire. Her whole body was covered in debris, and she stank of burnt plasma fire.
To ease her mind, Ahsoka allowed herself to drift with the force. Felt it's glowing warmth from this room's dreary cold. Felt the welcoming light embrace her entire body and flow with it, steadfast and unfaltering. It made the numbness in her arm completely gone, focusing her predatorily instincts to become keener on the situation at hand. With her focus solid, Ahsoka began to assess. Almost instantly she remembered the existence of her dearest friend Master Plo Koon, and attempted to feel for him through the Force. Trying to detect a ripple or a familiar fire engaged with the calm waves of the Force itself. She detected none from what she could tell. Everything was too blurry to see.
It's probably the medicine. But if I remove it, the pain in my arm will return.
Finding the gurney too uncomfortable, Ahsoka made an attempt to lift herself up. The bindings round her wrists, however, made her actions futile. Ahsoka scowled, then remembered. She was force-sensitive for crying out loud.
A Youngling.
The title stung her pride a bit, and diminished the confidence to free herself.
No! Don't think that, Ahsoka. Master Plo Koon would lecture you to stars end if you were to give up so quickly. You haven't even tried to escape. Don't give up.
By psyching her self-motivation back to maximum, she set her serene blue eyes on the bindings. Focusing with such a fierce stare, with the added independent fire of fearlessness that made her just as fierce, one would be reminded of the Togruta's predator ancestors.
I can do this. I can do this!
Mending her midi-chlorian presence with the surrounding Force, this time more fluidly, Ahsoka began to think herself as the bindings themselves. Thinking them slowly, inch by inch, deactivate and release their hold on her arms. And after bringing herself back to the now world, Ahsoka was successfully freed. Though not appropriate, but since none were present, Ahsoka permitted a prideful smile form across her face. She couldn't help it. Hardly a full teenager, but already she was capable of maturely handling situations at hand.
If only Master Plo could have seen her small success, maybe then he would have seen that she is destined to be his rightful padawan. And no one else. Ahsoka would have to tell him later.
Before pressing on, Ahsoka had to unfortunately remove the needles keeping her on morphine. But it had to be done. Hastily, Ahsoka delicately removed the needle from her Togruta orange skin. On after another, until her skin was completely un-punctured.
Expectantly, Ahsoka felt her arm was being pinched, slowly growing into a burning sensation. But through clenched teeth, Ahsoka endured the pain as she moved for the entrance door.
Be it the sedatives that were still coursing through her body—or just by sheer lack of needed experience, the Togruta was caught off guard by the doors parting opening—not by her. On the other side of that door, Ahsoka faced what appeared to be a human. Elderly, poised, highly educated—and strong with the Force.
"Greetings." The mysterious man spoke kindly—and guarded. Ahsoka didn't trust him. Just his presence was unnerving, whether it be presence alone or motives. It was a bad feeling altogether, and it made Ahsoka's headtails turn dark blue from agitation.
"H-hello," Ahsoka forced. "W-who are you?" Great. She couldn't make herself sound more pitiful and weak. Where did all the strong courage go?
"My name, dear child, is Count Dooku."
That name brought back a vivid fragment of the past. Through stories, Ahsoka remembered hearing from the Jedi who survived the Battle of Geonosis that a man by the name Count Dooku was the lead orchestrator of the Separatists Alliance, as well as other crimes against both the Republic—and the Jedi Order.
Her instincts were correct. Ahsoka can't trust this guy and let her guard down for one minute.
"Yes, now I remember. You are the man that went against the Jedi order. You even tried to murder a group of Jedi."
"Not exactly, child. I was merely proclaiming where my true loyalty lies with."
"You're a traitor."
"Think what you want, but I did not come here to speak of gossip." Bending forward, which almost looked like a bow, the elderly man produced an arm from his dark cape—and pointed at Ahsoka's direction. "I'm here to discuss you're current predicament—and how I am to dispose of you."
Smoothing a breath, attempting to keep calm on the situation, Ahsoka spoke again.
"I will discuss what is to become of me. But first I want to know where my friend is. Master Plo Koon. I know he's here. He's a man that is not so easily defeated."
With a pausing moment, the man seemed at first caught off guard. But form under that perfect silken beard, however, lied an elusive smile that gave Ahsoka a chill creep up the back of her neck and tickle her montrals.
"Ah, yes, yes. I will get to the matter of you're friend in due time. But you're first, I'm afraid."
Alerted by her ancestral special awareness, Ahsoka sensed company beyond the walls of this disgusting white room.
"How do you like you're room? Is it to you're liking?"
Ahsoka scrunched her white brows by the randomness of the question. "You don't have to force small conversation with me, sir," Ahsoka perked. "I'm already cooperating calmly as it is," she sharply stated.
The Count raised his elegant brow, amused by the child's resolute posture.
"You're quite mature, for one so young," He remarked.
"Of course. I am a Jedi. I'm expected to be mature.
"Well said—as well as gifted. Another reason why I am here to speak in more . . . civil terms."
"Civil?" Ahsoka questioned, still guarded.
"I wouldn't be here instead of the droids if it were not."
"Oh," Ahsoka managed another smooth breath. "Well, thank the stars for civility."
"I couldn't agree more." His smile promised hope, and not foreboding death that waited. And his voice. It was as if the very fabrication of his tone was alluring her into a delirium of false security. What scared Ahsoka more though—was that she didn't feel uneasy or paranoid because of that.
"You're connection with the Force. I ask for you to hand me you're powers for the greater good of the Separatists Alliance," Dooku said straight out.
Silenced filled the room. Ahsoka blinked once, then twice. Then broke the silence by saying, "You're joking, right?"
"I am not."
"Pardon me, but no," Ahsoka took a step back, aware of the gurney two inches behind her. "I will not betray the Jedi Order. You can't expect me to do such a thing."
"You forget, however, that you are at the mercy of my hands. I could very well say the word, and my droids will come and kill you."
"So you're saying—for the safety of my life—I must do what you say."
"In simpler words, yes."
"Okay," Ahsoka breathed.
She didn't know what to do.
A dark, and disgusting darkness began to envelope around Ahsoka. Ensnaring her in a poisonous fog. And the human was the cause of it. She could sense the disgusting aura emitting straight from where he—for what he was.
"W-what are you?" she rasped, baring her pure white teeth at him.
Dooku remained unaffected by the child's sudden expression. Staring with a cold gaze, the Count's shoulder's relaxed and smoothed his beard before breaking the silence.
"I am Sith." His tone was too casual—too unemotional that it was disturbing. "And far more powerful than any mere Jedi, even Grand Master Yoda."
Glaring, chest rumbling with a feral growl that followed, Ahsoka allowed her instincts to overcome her into a low stance. She knew she was going to have to fight to get off enemy grounds, and if she had to fight off a Sith to make out, then so be it. This man will not get in her way.
All of a sudden a mental image of her dear Kel Dor companion presented itself in front of Ahsoka's sight. The sight of him safely inside the secure and protected walls of the Jedi Temple was the first thing Ahsoka envisioned. It all turned dark afterward when the next vision showed her master's demise because of her—because of this man in front of him.
Master Plo Koon. I won't let you die. Not here. And not anywhere.
Ahsoka dropped her head into a veil of shadows, hiding her forlorn expression.
"I . . . have a request, in exchange for my compliance."
"I am in a passive mood for the time, so I'll hear what you have to say and then I will decide whether or not I'll permit it."
Ahsoka could feel the air sour and the atmosphere darken as she helplessly sold her services for the price of something—at that time—she felt she would never regret.
While Count Dooku offered his attention to the poor girl at his mercy, Grievous was dealing with his matters that he sadly had to put up with on his own.
And much to his chagrin, to Grievous the droids were not making any progress in fixing the hyperdrive. And it only was a moment like this that needed the assistance of the general himself.
Grievous pushed aside the droids with an irate snarl, re-setting the nava-computer and so on to get the hyperdrive back to operational. He managed it on his own in less than one hour. And after completing the task that he assigned to the stupid battle droids. Twisting his head in a slow malevolent manner, Grievous stalked towards the group of battle droids scurrying closer to each other in an attempt to get away from their abusive master.
"Incompetent, all of you!"
Managing to get at least those intelligible words through the vocabulator that gave the general the ability to speak, Grievous swiftly removed himself from the bridge. It was the only way he could keep himself from wreaking havoc with his uncontrollable rage. Even the sight of the incompetent droids could set him off in a second and the general would lose himself in his own rage.
The general instead decided to make various transmissions via holo-projector to the council members who involved their business with the preceding trade. Other than his superiors, Dooku ad Lord Sidious, the council members aligned with the Separatists were about the only living beings that were made aware of the general's existence. He was told it was a necessary action to manipulate the Separatists council members into believing Count Dooku those barves his utmost trust and loyalty. The general thought different, on the other hand. When speaking his mind on how such an act would remain pointless if the Count were to simply force them into placing their complete loyalties to his cause, the Count had that look that resembled ignorance and the displeasure of open opinions he failed to hide under Grievous' watchful gaze. He didn't say anything after that and swiftly diverted the subject by questioning why he shouldn't reveal himself to the rest of the galaxy as well.
But that was already explained to me, and foolishly I allowed myself to forget such a key event.
Right after proving himself worthy in a test designed by the Sith, count Dooku, the composed human instructed the general to not reveal himself to the public eye yet. The Clone wars has just begun, yet the general was refused to be allowed to show the galaxy who was the true mastermind in all of the nefarious strategies that completely left the Republic army baffled and pressed back to their pitiful planet. Again, the general had answer that put the general in his place yet again. When the time would come, the general would be free to do as he pleased, but for now, he had to be patient and follow his master's feet like an obedient dog.
The concept did enrage him, but the general ultimately put his faith in his master's plan. He was sure everything Count Dooku decided was absolute and with good intentions that will ultimately lead to the destruction of the Republic.
After successfully transmitting his message to the Techno Union especially, Grievous was just about to return to the bridge with his anger leveled—but was cut off by a trotting droid.
"General? General! Count Dooku wishes to have a word with you."
Back in the medical room, Lord Count Dooku was still speaking to Ahsoka. Having grown tired of standing, the Count took a seat in the only vacant chair. Ahsoka refused to sit, still wary of his true motives, and preferred to stand. Currently, the man was debating over the request the child had asked for moments before.
When he was done deciding, the Sith smiled with a calm and serene composure.
"Very well, so long as you undergo the experimental procedures, I will personally make the arrangements for you and you're friend to reunite. Will that satisfy?"
"Yes! Oh, thank you, sir!" Ahsoka thanked, pathetically throwing herself at him with gratitude. "If it's not too much me to ask—Lord Tyrannus," she caught herself as quick as a hiccup after remembering the Sith's title. "—but how many standard day's do you estimate when my request can be made."
"Oh, I'm afraid I won't know until I have the free time to arrange you're reunion. But fear not dear, I am a man of my word."
The tone in his voice nearly brought Ahsoka to tears, but she winced them away. She didn't want to look pathetic in front of this man.
A droid returned—the one the Sith Count had spoken to during their meeting—saluting before it's master, speaking whatever procured in it's miniscule circuitry, before leaving too eagerly. As if it's battery was almost overriding or some other sort. Ahsoka hadn't the slightest clue. She was never fond of droids anyway—not the ones programmed to end a life. Her favorite unit were the R-units. Cute little things. So eagerly helpful when given the task.
"So when do we depart? I wish to complete you're tasks as quick as possible." Ahsoka did her best not to sound too eager. But the safety of her friend was on the line.
"Oh, about that my dear. I'm afraid that, given my responsibility for my colleagues as well as my position in the political familiars, I' haven't the time to properly care for you for the time being." He threw over his shoulder, whole body facing directly forward. Waiting for something, patiently passive and elusive through the force.
Ahsoka rose a white brow. "So wait, what does that mean? Will I not see my master because of this?—or what?"
"Do not fret; I've come up with a proper solution—Ah! And here he is right now."
Ahsoka, overtaken and confused, peaked her head out from behind the Count's cape to see as to who the man was referring to. First what she could make out from the distance was an abnormally large droid, a droid she couldn't quite determine. For a minute, Ahsoka had it for some sort of monster-size droid. It's size was unbelievable, it's design clearly put in great effort.
The said creature Ahsoka was referring to, having spotted his master at last, widened his stride to catch—only to slow in a split second whence his enhanced vision caught the sight of orange and white mixed together. Grievous befuddled at first, thinking it nothing more than a droid he had yet to familiarize with—and destroy if it displeased him so, but was intrigued, and startled, when he realized what it was.
A child.
"Why is there a child aboard my ship?" Grievous half-barked-half-yelled. Ignoring to address his master in anger, as well as irate that his master would go behind his back and allow a survivor to slither in his ship when he specifically ordered his crew not to.
"For personal reasons, I assure you, general."
"Why wasn't I aware of this?"
"Because I know how you would have reacted had I gave word. Clearly, my assumption is proven fact."
Realizing his mistake, the general corrected himself swiftly. "F-forgive me, my lord."
Ahsoka froze in fear; her mouth gaped in a large O. It talked! And too humanly. Too alive. Too—uniquely intelligent for a mere droid. Foolishly, the Togruta made the mistake of leaving the safety of the Count. Curiously with an outstretched hand, Ahsoka tried to touch and better inspect the peculiar creature. She could sense pure life emitting from deep within all that durasteel. She could sense the warmth, the sounds of a beating heart at a Togruta distance.
It's a cyborg.
Cyborgs. First off, droids and machinery weren't the top subjects Jedi were fond of. They were not organic, and, therefore, did not have the midi-chlorian presence organic beings carried. As such, even cyborgs were often looked down on in the same degree depending the procedures they submitted themselves—or forced to submit to. It came to Ahsoka that this was actually her first time meeting one.
Ahsoka was cut short of her action by inhuman speed when the general snatched her arm, squeezing it slowly as a warning.
"Don't do that!" it roared at her.
When she looked up, Ahsoka met with a pair of fierce golden eyes. There was reddish skin within the sockets, indicating that perhaps the not all of the cyborg's flesh was removed.
The menacingly tall cyborg was hovering over her with the most malevolent glare, a stare that brought Ahsoka back to her sense and ran back behind the Count. The elder took one stride to the side, and brought her back up—much to Ahsoka's chagrin.
"General, this is Ahsoka Tano," the Count presented casually. He looked down to Ahsoka. "Ahsoka, this is the Supreme Commander of the Droid Army, General Grievous."
Ahsoka said nothing, except regard the general with a fearful stare. The general returned with the same glare, same hatred. Just the sight of his arched-posture that resembled a beast ready to kill, it's claws bared and deployed, and it's claw-like feet sharp and intimidating—made Ahsoka tremble in place.
"Grievous, I'm assigning you to care for this child. She has placed her allegiance to me, and is of extreme importance to the Separatists Umbrella."
The entire corridor fell silent. Ahsoka was more frightened than ever when the general angrily protested.
"Is this some sort of joke? I cannot afford to care for a pup, especially with my responsibilities as a Commander of the most powerful droid army."
"I can neither find the time to care for her as well. You on the other hand, do not have to go through what I'm forced to, so it's settled. Ahsoka has promised not be a bother, and I doubt you won't ignore my command, will you Grievous?"
The general spitefully obeyed grudgingly. "Yes, my Lord."
"Excellent."
Satisfied with the arrangements, the Count left little Ahsoka in the care of whom later be the most feared adversary the Republic would ever come to face, General Grievous.
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