She who will be born to darkness will give birth to darkness...
"What is your name, child?"
This was no place for a child, much less a Jedi. The air was murky and thick from the gaseous fumes. The lighting at this level was quite dim and flickering. Overhead, speeders and other such aircraft zoomed back and forth in an endless menagerie of flashing headlights, which proved to be the only illumination that would grace the lower level alleyway in which Master Shaak-Ti now found herself. It wasn't often that the Trogrutan left the confines of the Jedi Temple to wander the streets of Coruscant. However, she had made an exception this once, believing that her doing so would prove fruitful. That morning Shaak-Ti had risen with the dawn, as many of her Jedi companions did, so that she might meditate in the cool morning air of the Temple gardens, amidst the trees and other plants. That particular time, before the city awoke, was best for her meditations; the Force always felt easier to connect with in the early morning, at the birth of each new day, surrounded by the natural elements. It was, for lack of a better word, the most invasive at that time. Before the start of the day's activities, Master Shaak-Ti required the full will of the Force. It's what all the Jedi, young and old alike, needed. At it's strongest, the Force could flow freely and without obstacle, immersing one with serenity and clarity to fulfill their daily duties at the standard held by the Jedi Code. It was during this peak level of the morning that Master Shaak-Ti sensed a pull within the Force. It was no great power, nothing particularly fascinating or alarming, but it was indeed present. She could not tell what exactly it was, but her own instinctive sensory powers, by which her species was known for, coupled with the heightened clarity of the Force itself, pulled her to a specific location.
It was here, in the slums of Coruscant and nestled away in the near-darkness of the alleyway, that Shaak-Ti found what she, or rather the Force, was looking for: a child. A young Zeltron female it seemed. The tall, looming Trogrutan, face halfway covered by her hooded Jedi cloak, repeated the question. This time she outstretched her slender, tattooed hand to the quivering girl who had taken refuge behind a dumpster.
"Please, what is your name? I'd like to know," Shaak-Ti asked kindly.
It may have been her kind voice, her calm demeanor, or even just the last ditch effort of a lonely girl to possibly free herself from a sad fate that she most certainly would have faced here in the slums, that emboldened her to leave the safety of the shadows.
The child emerged, shivering and wearisome, and stepped slowly up to the hooded figure. In the dim light Shaak-Ti could see her more clearly. She was most certainly Zeltron; her intense fuschia-colored skin was illuminated by the lights from the speeders above. Shaak-Ti studied her briefly; she seemed unharmed and, other than being on the thinner side, was not evidently ill. She surmised, as she peered into the child's jade green eyes, that she was probably five or six years old. Definitely old enough to comprehend her surroundings and situation, but not old enough to survive on her own. And that begged the question: Why was she alone?
The Zeltron child seemed reluctant to reply. She shuffled her steps in the place where she stood, her bare feet kicking up little bits of rocks while her tiny hands fidgeted at her side. Her behavior was quite anxiety-ridden, but that wasn't unusual, Shaak-Ti thought to herself, seeing the conditions this girl was sentenced to live in. The Jedi Master was patient. She did not see the need to rush answers from this child until she was ready. But she had to be sure of one thing; was it the will of the Force that revealed her? Or was it something else? Shaak-Ti gestured to the girl's trembling hand and closed her eyes as the tiny fingers settled in her palm after a moment of initial hesitation. The Jedi Master knelt at her level and simply embraced the Force through her. She breathed slowly and steadily, allowing the Force to travel back and forth in an unadulterated and welcoming environment. For a silent few minutes the oddly matched pair, Trogrutan and Zeltron, simply existed together. Shaak-Ti breathed calmly and without haste, allowing the Force to come to her whenever it was inclined to do so. The child was surprisingly patient despite not having an inkling of what was transpiring. That was a good sign. A burst of air and fumes rushed passed them as a particular fast-moving craft went by, flying a tad bit lower than the others. Shaak-Ti was unbothered. The child winced as the cold, damp air brushed against her face and nearly broke their concentration. Shaak-Ti intensified her focus to re-center the girl and regain what had almost been lost. Progress was being made and she could not allow it to be thwarted. Another minute etched away when finally the Zeltron child spoke.
"The feeling... It's back," the child announced.
"You have felt this before," Shaak-Ti questioned in an undertone.
"Yes, a little...but they told me not to talk about it," she answered hesitantly.
"Your parents told you," she inquired further.
"Yes...Before they..." a sniffle could be heard, "left."
Left? Had she been abandoned by her own parents? This was a sad state of affairs indeed, but it only increased the kind-hearted Trogrutan's desire to help this child.
"My name is Shaak-Ti. In time, I would be happy to know your name as well. But for now, I would like you to come with me. Would you be happy to leave this place," the urgency apparent in her voice.
"You mean...not be alone anymore," the child uttered in disbelief.
"Yes, indeed," was the Jedi's simple reply.
The young girl, hesitant though at first, now reached out and clasped onto the Trogrutan's left hand and gazed up at her. Though young still and quite unlearned, the girl showed a great deal of intelligence and contemplative insight: she was no fool. True, her lot in life had thus far proven harsh. However, the keen-eyed Jedi Master noted, she had not yet lost hope. Her eyes beemed with it. She said nothing further but nodded, which was enough indication for the Master Jedi, who could already sense the child's eagerness, that this lonely girl no longer wished to walk the path she was forced on. She yearned for more. The Force was indeed strong with her. Shaak-Ti cast a smile down at the small Zeltron girl and together they marched away from the dreary darkness, never to return...
--
"Winter..."
"Winter..."
"Winter!"
That got the Padawan's attention. Seated on a beige, tufted bench, her knees tucked against her chest and face buried deep into the book she had borrowed from the Temple archives, Winter Vance hadn't at first noticed the beckoning of her Master. She was quite absorbed in that particular archive, which delved into the sacred Jedi prophecies, topics a young Padawan did not usually find appealing. In most respects, Winter wasn't unlike her peers, but she did possess a special kind of maturity and hunger for knowledge that at times set her apart from the other youths. Master Shaak-Ti had noticed such traits in the Zeltron girl even at the time of their first meeting and found them, above all things, refreshing, but knew that too much of any particular trait could lead one down a path of imbalance. And so the older, wiser Jedi felt it her duty to pull her young student back when she seemed to be spending too much time in the archives and not enough time in her more essential studies.
"I'm sorry, Master. I lost track of the time. But this archive...it was different! There's so much in here. So much about the ancient Jedi prophecies. I simply couldn't help myself," Winter started in an excited hurry, but ended in humble admittance.
Master Shaak-Ti was not a terribly harsh Master and Winter had never believed her to be so. She was patient with Winter, almost too patient, and made many allowances for the Padawan's unorthodox nuances. She allowed her space to learn and grow and become her own, independent person. She encouraged her to think deeply and ask questions, the kind of questions that others her age would be apprehensive to ask. Perhaps Shaak-Ti was so lenient with young Winter because she knew the life Winter had endured before coming to the Jedi Temple. But now, as her Padawan was already 17 years of age, nearly 18, she was quite old enough to be given more responsibility and feel real pressure and adversity. Shaak-Ti never believed her Padawan to be faint of heart or sheepish, despite how she came across to others. It was understandable that the council members sometimes had reservations towards Winter, as she was far too withdrawn. But Master Shaak-Ti sensed there was more to it; she withheld because trust was not something she would ever fully possess. She loved and respected her fellows and yearned to have the comradery with them that they tried to give to her, but something inside of her had always kept them at somewhat of a distance. Was it intentional? No. It was simply an automatic, thoughtless, and learned response that Winter couldn't shake. Master Shaak-Ti knew that it would be a great deal of time before Winter Vance trusted anyone with her entirety. And knowing that caused the Jedi Master to exercise a greater deal of patience towards her Padawan as she found her, yet again, buried in a book. The archives were trustworthy and would never let her down. She could rely upon knowledge fully, because it would always be there. It would never abandon her. In fact, it welcomed her.
"Yes, the prophecies are fascinating. I have read them repeatedly over the years as I rose from Padawan learner to Master. They possess a great deal of knowledge that we cannot yet comprehend. So use your time wisely, dear Winter. Do not linger in the pages of the archives for too long, lest you may find yourself frozen in time," her Master warned wisely.
"Of course, you are right. And very wise, Master Shaak-Ti. I do try to stay in the present. But I find it difficult to keep my head and heart focused and in balance... The Force, some days, seems out of reach... And on my own, I know I am greatly lacking in discipline, though not because of any negligence on your part, M-Master," Winter stumbled upon her own words, not wanting to offend her superior in any way.
"It's quite alright, Winter. You have said nothing to offend. You have excellent qualities, many befitting a Jedi. Maintaining balance is a challenge for us all, even Master Yoda himself. Nobody expects you to have perfected this attribute. But you are expected to make progress. Stagnation must be your enemy," Shaak-Ti advised as she turned to leave.
Winter rose quickly from her place and followed after her Master, her training robes rustling behind her. She caught up with Shaak-Ti hurriedly, noticing that the Trogrutan female was unnerved as Winter herself sensed something was amiss. Shaak-Ti led Winter into the heights of the Jedi Temple where the pair would find themselves standing before the Jedi Council. Shaak-Ti, a member of the council herself, regarded her colleagues with a respectful head nod. Having been before the council only a couple times in the past, Winter looked to the example of her Master and imitated the greeting, assuming that would be the most respectful thing to do. The council members individually returned the gesture. After a moment of silence Master Windu spoke:
"We have just received word that the Chancellor may be in danger. Our sources tell us that General Grievous has reached the planet's surface. We suspect Chancellor Palpatine will be abducted, or worse," Mace Windu announced with great. urgency.
"I understand. We can leave this instant," Shaak-Ti assured as she looked to Winter.
"Prepared for this mission, your Padawan is not. A formidable foe, General Grievous is. Lost many to his grasp, we have..." Master Yoda solemnly retorted.
Winter Vance felt as though she'd been kicked in the gut. Not ready? How could they think that? Had she not done all in her power to gain the respect of the Council and yet they still couldn't trust her?
"The issue trust is not," Yoda responded to Winter's thoughts directly.
The young Padawan had forgotten about the Masters' ability to hear unspoken words, especially when such emmitted a great deal of emotion. Winter was instantly embarrassed and disappointed in herself for not maintaining more calmness. She bowed her head low, shamefully.
The Trogrutan sensed her Padawan's awkwardness and placed a hand upon her shoulder. She, too, was quite disappointed by Master Yoda's words and the apparent unanimous decision of the council. But what could be done? At least, she thought, an explanation could be provided?
"If there is anything lacking in my Padawan's character or ability, I'm sure my fellow council members wouldn't deny an elaboration? Winter would benefit greatly from having more to meditate on," Master Shaak-Ti beckoned smoothly, so smoothly that her tone might have even been mistaken for snarkiness.
"It is not a matter of ability, Master Shaak-Ti. It is, well, a precaution," Master Plo Koon replied with hesitation.
Precaution? That word suggested preventing something from happening, or rather protecting someone from something. But what could be meant by it? Shaak-Ti pondered the idea for a brief moment. It didn't matter. At least, not at this moment. The council's decision was final.
"I understand and respect the council's decision," Shaak-Ti acknowledged.
Winter had maintained silence as the masters spoke, her head still low but not low enough so that she couldn't see the expressions on their faces; sadness. Did they mourn over her inadequacies, or was it perhaps empathy they felt? She hadn't meant to disappoint them. She had truly tried her best to be worthy of the rank of Padawan though, it seemed, her best was simply not enough.
Shaak-Ti bid farewell to Winter as she departed with Masters Roron Corrob and Foul Moudama. There was not much time for goodbye's as the trio needed to make haste. This mission was gravely vital to ensure the Chancellor's safety and the future of the Republic overall. Winter Vance watched from the Temple landing as her Master's image vanished in the distance. Though everything would be fine as it always was, Winter couldn't help but feel uneasy. She had never faced this General Grievous before but the rumours and whispers were more than enough to enlighten her of his cruelty. It was said he was half droid, half sentient, but nobody knew for sure. Her fellow Padawan's avoided speaking unnecessarily about him; his reputation of slaughtering Jedi preceded him. She had even overheard from Ahsoka Tano that he collected the lightsabers from the Jedi corpses as trophies. Winter wouldn't know; she rarely faced field combat and so would never encounter such an adversary. Her Master had attempted on numerous occasions to bring her onto the field more regularly, but the council rarely allowed it. There was always a reason. Winter frowned as she thought about the restrictions only she seemed to be confronted with. She was the same age as Master Skywalker's own padawan, who had battled much during the Clone Wars, and yet she was dealt with as though she could shatter at any moment.
"Maybe it's true...Maybe I'm not fit to be a Jedi," Winter muttered aloud.
Twenty minutes must have passed when a craft zoomed into the landing bay, just as Winter was heading back inside the Temple. A trooper hobbled quickly out of the craft, holding his hand against a laceration wound in his shoulder. He fell to his knees after only a few steps. Winter rushed to meet him as he slumped over.
"Steady, trooper. You'll be alright. Just breathe," she commanded, holding him upright.
"When you're able, please tell me what happened," Winter pleaded softly
The clone trooper heaved a couple deep breaths, composing himself before he spoke. The pain in his shoulder was surreal; a lightsaber was responsible.
"H-He came out of nowhere! We weren't ready...it's all a blur. Everything happened so quickly! The Jedi...they got out," he coughed.
"And the Chancellor?"
"Yes, they all got out...but that thing, that droid, whatever it is...It's not going to stop," the trooper neared hysterics.
Winter brought the injured trooper to his feet and passed him to the clones who met her at the entrance of the landing bay. What happened next was a blur.
The speeder bike wasn't exactly her first choice of craft but it's all she knew how to operate, or at least, operate well. And even then she struggled to keep it steady. Winter accelerated the speeder faster, her long red hair flailing in the rushing wind behind her. She knew where they would be heading; Palpatine's private safehouse in the Federal District. Thankfully it wasn't too far and she knew the way. She had met the Chancellor briefly some time ago after she had become Master Shaak-Ti's padawan. Winter thought that perhaps she should have alerted the council first, before heading out on her own, but there just wasn't time for that. Her Master, fellow Jedi, and the Chancellor were in grave danger and could use all the help they could get. Besides, the council had already made it very clear that she was not there prime choice for these kinds of things. Perhaps this was her chance to prove herself? The thought emboldened her. It didn't even occur to Winter that that notion, that prideful attribute, could be a problem.
"No..." Shaak-Ti explained in horror.
The Trogrutan Jedi stood in shock at the entrance to Chancellor Palpatine's safehouse, gazing at the bodies of Roron Corrob and Foul Moudama. She had made a grave error in judgement and stayed behind to fend off what she thought was the droid general himself. It turned out, however, after a long and arduous battle, that he had used his magnaguards as a decoy to keep the far-more-skilled Jedi Master away to made quick work of the now-deceased.
General Grievous held the Chancellor a few feet above the ground, his armored, droidlike hands coiled into the collar of Palpatine's robes. Grievous' presence was, indeed, intimidating. But Shaak-Ti didn't fear him, not in the slightest. Lightsaber ignited, the glowing blue of the kyber crystal shining brightly in the dim light of the safehouse, Master Shaak-Ti prepared herself; this may be her end. She thought fondly of her Padawan, the council, and her fellow Jedi throughout the Galaxy. She couldn't run, not now. Not when the Chancellor needed her most.
Shaak-Ti let out a fierce battle cry as she flung herself forward, lightsaber ready. General Grievous shoved the quivering old man to the side and, in a flash of decisiveness, he smacked the female Trogrutan's lightsaber from her hands and wrapped his fingers around her throat with the other. Shaak-Ti gasped for air and clawed at his grip, though nothing would deter him. He was far too strong.
"You seem tired, Jedi," he chuckled.
"Perhaps it's time you rested," Grievous hissed mockingly.
"Hey! Droid!"
A passionate, youthful voice shouted from the entrance. General Grievous turned to see who dared to face him this time. Another Jedi? He met eyes with the red haired Zeltron female who stood with her green lightsabers ignited in the doorway.
Winter Vance was indeed angry, an emotion Jedi were not encouraged to display. But could one blame her? Two of her fellow Jedi lay dead at her feet whilst her Master was incapacitated, dangling like a doll some feet above the ground. Shaak-Ti looked in horror at her Padawan, though somewhat relieved. But the fear she felt was far greater than any joy she could muster.
"No, Winter, you mustn't face him," Shaak-Ti pleaded in between gasps.
Winter Vance ignored her pleas and leapt into action.
Grievous chuckled raspily through his face mask. If this was the best the Jedi Council could come up with then they, too,would be easily dealt with.
The hulking droid-like being tossed the Trogrutan aside only after relieving her of her lightsaber. As Winter came upon him, he countered the green beam of her dual sabers with that of the Trogrutan's. The clashing of their weapons erupted into sparks. He was far stronger than the Zeltron female and his skills were more advanced. This was almost insulting. Winter pushed back against the force of his weapon with all the strength she had. In that moment their eyes met, only inches apart. Winter stared deep into the gold, reptilian pupils and saw only hatred. She could feel his raspy breath upon her face, calm and unbothered.
General Grievous enjoyed making eye contact with his prey before ending their pathetic existence. This Padawan was no different from the other countless Jedi scum he had killed. He wanted them to feel the cold chill of desperation and defeat, just as he had so many years ago. He recalled the explosion in bits and pieces, but mostly he remembered waking inside a bacta tank to find his body and limbs had almost all been obliterated in the attack. What had he done to bring upon himself the wrath of the Jedi? Nothing. He could feel the excruciating pain even now, a haunting reminder of what the Jedi were capable of, and had vowed to eradicate their kind, indiscriminately, from the Galaxy. Despite her being but a Padawan, he knew that this girl would grow up to become just like all the others, with the same hypocrisy as her teachers. General Grievous felt no pity, no remorse for his actions but rather relished the thought of adding another pair of lightsabers to his collection.
Winter stumbled backwards. The strength of her adversary had almost knocked her off her feet completely but she managed to regain her composure and parry his next couple attacks. The Zeltron, innately agile and light on her feet, darted back and forth and out of the way of the blue energy beam, which came surprisingly fast; this massive opponent was quite agile himself. She just barely ducked below as he sliced the air where her neck had been.
That was close, she thought to herself.
Winter maintained more defensive maneuvers in line with her training. Her Master had taught her to keep a defensive stance when her opponent outweighed her and, in this case, he did. She wouldn't have a chance if she met him strength against strength. At least this way she knew she could outmaneuver him and perhaps wear him down.
But General Grievous didn't have time for anymore games.
Trained in the Jedi arts by County Dooku himself, Grievous knew well the tactics and methods of his small Jedi adversary. She was biding her time, perhaps for reinforcements. But no savior would come. The general reached into his cloak and brought forth a second lightsaber, a third, and then a forth. Each shone brightly in the darkness and each was a reminder of what he was capable of. He barreled down upon the small and insignificant girl with each of the ignited beams and slashed, one after another, until he knew she was tired out.
Winter blocked and parried and countered as well as she could. She called on all her years of training to survive this. But she felt her arms grow weary and chest throb with anxiety. He was relentless. At one point an opening in his form revealed itself and Winter made a desperate effort to land a blow to his chest plate, leaving herself wide open; a mistake she would pay for. General Grievous took full advantage of the Padawan's inexperience and lunged Shaak-Ti's blue lightsaber forward, driving it through her fleshy torso. Just as the impact was made, the Jedi Master, who had been unconscious, burst open her eyes to see the sight she had feared: her beloved Padawan apprentice falling to the ground, defeated, and by the blade of Shaak-T's own lightsaber. Shaak-Ti was not able to compose herself well enough yet to avenge her student. She could barely keep her eyes open.
Winter couldn't believe it. She'd lost. The saber cauterized her flesh and innards and all she could feel was an intense burning sensation. Her vision began to blur in and out of focus and her breath grew shallow. She placed a hand over the wound's opening and looked up into the gold, reptilian eyes. She thought about saying a few last words, knowing this was her end, and filtered quickly through what would be appropriate. All she could think of was her Master.
"M-Master...Please. Please forgive me...I-I failed you," was Winter's last utterance.
Even in this final moment she stood defiant before Grievous. Her green eyes were dull but still possessed the undying hope that Shaak-Ti had first seen in her many years ago. The Force would be with her. Always.
General Grievous disignited his lightsabers and returned them to their place in his cloak. He watched disinterestingly as the Zeltron female fell to the ground at his feet. He reached down and pried her lightsabers from her cold hands. As he brought the Chancellor back to his feet, the old man shaky and barely alert, his comm link beeped; Count Dooku. Grievous answered immediately.
"May I ask what is taking so long, General? I believed this was a simple feat for you," Dooku hissed in his usual, elegant tone.
"There was a slight complication, but it has been dealt with," Grievous replied.
"Complication? And what could prove a complication for you, General," the Count questioned in amusement.
"A girl, a Padawan," was his only reply.
"Hmm...just a Padawan? And is she dead," his master mused aloud.
Grievous squatted to the ground and turned Winter's still face to him, checking for life. At first it seemed as though she had finally died, but with a closer examination he noticed her chest contract. He cursed behind his mask and wrapped his fingers around her skinny neck.
"Shall I finish it, my lord Count?"
"No. This Padawan may yet have usefulness. Bring her."
General Grievous ended the call and proceeded to scoop the limp body of Winter Vance into his arms. He noted how light she felt. She wasn't large in stature, that was quite obvious. And even now, with her face pale and lifeless, Grievous could still see her defiant will upon her features. Although a fleeting feeling, he regarded the youth with a measure of respect; it wasn't every Jedi who would stand against him, alone.
His magnaguards, who had just arrived, escorted Chancellor Palpatine out of the safehouse and to the shuttlecraft awaiting them. The general stomped in their wake and followed up the ramp with the padawn dangling in his grasp. For a brief moment, Winter's eyes squinted open. She couldn't see much but was able to discern that she was being carried, as she felt her body rocking back and forth. Her first thought was that she and her Master had been rescued by the council. Perhaps Master Windu and Master Yoda had arrived and made quick work of that blasted droid. The Chancellor surely was safe; thank the Force! A smile crept upon her pale lips. General Grievous was defeated...Everything was going to be just fine...That is, until she looked up.
The image she beheld was too much. She found herself staring once again into those dead, reptilian eyes and the sensation she felt could only be described as cold. She had no strength left in her; her fight was gone. Now she was at the mercy of whatever lay before her. The anxiety and fear was too much; her eyes closed and again she succumbed to unconsciousness. Her temporary lucidity was not a concern for Grievous. He casually brought her on board the shuttle and passed her to the nearest magnaguard; he had had quite enough of this nuisance. He was preparing to close the shuttle doors when he sensed a presence behind him.
Master Windu had run as quickly as the Force allowed him. He already discovered the slaughtered Jedi and Master Shaak-Ti, whom the general had left dangling from electrical wires in Palpatine's safehouse. Truly a gruesome sight. Now, he stood some ways from the shuttle while the unsuspecting General Grievous boarded. He had arrived in time to watch the droid taking not just the Chancellor but Shaak-Ti's padawan as well.
It was then that Grievous became aware of the Jedi and turned to face him, all four of his arms wielding a lightsaber, which happened to include Shaak-Ti and Winter's. He was ready to end this Jedi slime the same as the others.
Mace Windu wasn't interested in a lengthy fight. He thought decisively on how best to weaken Grievous; it was as though the Force raised his hand and acted through the Master Jedi, without allowing him a moment of hesitation. Windu closed his outstretched hand into a tight fist and, using the power of the Force, crushed the general's chest plate, injuring his exposed lungs within. It was indeed a disabling blow. General Grievous clutched his chest and fell to his knees, coughing hysterically, just as the shuttle lifted into the air.
Mace Windu watched from below, his eyes downcast and heart heavy, as the craft sped away into the distance.
"T-that blasted Jedi filth," Grievous coughed violently.
The 2-1B medical droids leapt into action as the general layed himself onto the examination table. His chest plate looked like it had gotten into a fight with an enraged mumuu- and lost. His lungs within were crushed; organ tissue and fluids leaked onto the table and puddled beneath him. The medical droids needed to work fast if they were going to repair the damage at all. But first, they needed to remove his face mask to hook him up to the pulmonary resuscitation unit. In less than one minute, General Grievous would lose the ability to breathe.
In the corresponding examination room, Winter was already hooked up to the resuscitation kit; she'd stopped breathing just minutes prior. She lay still and seemingly lifeless on the cold, metal table. A 2-1B droid was busy tending to the lightsaber wound she'd received from Grievous, who ironically was now in similar dire straits; Winter would have chuckled had she not been fighting for her life. The droid stuck her with a stimpack to stabilize her until she could be transferred to a bacta tank aboard the Invisible Hand. The shuttle they were all on did not have adequate medical equipment, nor capabilities, to preserve her life as was instructed by Count Dooku. For what purpose? Not even General Grievous knew.
"Status report," Grievous barked as he pulled down the breathing mask.
"Vitals are stable. We are in the process of rebuilding your-," the droid started.
"Not me! The Jedi," Grievous spat in frustration.
This girl's life was inconsequential. He saw no reason to preserve her further and would dispose of her that instant had his Master not said otherwise. He may have disagreed, but ultimately yielded to Dooku's orders. For the Count to put such importance on one individual, who wasn't even a full-fledged Jedi, there must have been a good reason. Grievous could care less in that moment; he himself was struggling to stay conscious. Grievous shoved the mask back over his uncovered face and breathed in deeply. He shut his eyes and forced himself to lie still while the medical droids worked. The pain that surged through what was left of his nervous system should have caused him to black out by now. Why was he still awake? After all the pain and trauma his body had experienced through the years, even before he joined the Separatists, General Grievous had become numb. He no longer felt pain and his cyborg enhancements didn't carry any kind of pain sensories to allow him to experience that basic sentient attribute. When he lost limbs now, as he did often, he would simply be reconstructed and re-equipped with new gear and technology that had been specially designed for him and him alone. By allowing the constant enhancements, General Grievous had truly become a force to be reckoned with. He could go days without sleeping, eating, and, with being unable to experience pain, could outlast his opponents with ease.
He recalled the look in the Padawan's eyes when their lightsabers met; defiance is what he saw. She was afraid, fearful even, when she confronted him and with good reason. She must have known she wouldn't win. But still she tried- why? What made her act in a way that brought her own demise, despite having every opportunity to run? He knew the Jedi to be determined, but this was far more than that.
--
Aboard the Invisible Hand, General Grievous was back on his feet and moving about, albeit somewhat slower and with a hunch. He also erupted into a violent, raspy cough every few seconds. The droids had done their best to repair him, but he still scoffed at the results; that Jedi filth, Windu, had done more damage than he'd thought. Grievous folded his arms behind his back as the doors to the medbay opened to him. He had come to inspect the situation surrounding this Padawan whom his Master was so interested in. His large, talonlike metal feet stomped, one after the other, on the ground and echoed in the faded sounds of beeping medical equipment and monitoring systems. He approached the bacta tank in the center of the room and gazed upon the figure inside.
Winter Vance floated lifelessly in the bacta fluid, her long hair surrounding her in a mass of fiery red like the lava fields of Mustafar. Her pink skin was foggy behind the glass tank, appearing almost blotchy. Her face was covered by a breathing mask while her arms and legs were bound in equipment to monitor her vitals. She wore no more than a bralette and linen shorts, just enough to maintain propriety. But what did it matter now? Winter didn't know what happened, where she was, or what would become of her. Her thoughts were merely dreams at this point. Nothing was real anymore for the Padawan. And nothing could be trusted.
General Grievous watched her eyelids twitch; was she waking? No. She was dreaming. He found it humorous that, even now, this girl was fighting reality. She truly was stubborn and, although that trait annoyed him, Grievous also found it deserving of some respect, or at least acknowledgment. He wouldn't describe most of the Jedi he'd faced in the past as stubborn; they didn't exhibit enough emotion for that quality. Perhaps that's why he regarded her in such a way, because she exhibited a drive that he hadn't seen in quite some time.
Not since...it mattered not. General Grievous shook away the distant and futile memory to force his mind to refocus on the task at hand; soon she would see the true power of the Separatists. She would indeed prove a useful tool for Count Dooku. His Master had already filled him in on the efficaciousness of this puny, Zeltron female. He relished the thought of her being used to further the downfall of the Jedi Order. What a fitting demise, he pondered to himself. It was almost poetic that their own Padawan, a future Jedi herself, would be used to bring them to their knees!
"Dream while you can, Padawan. Soon, very soon, you will see...You will join us and help to create a galaxy free of the Jedi scourge. Your destiny lies before you, as mine once had. But worry not, child. The pain will last but a moment," Grievous hissed through his mask whilst tracing the glass of the bacta tank with his talon-like fingers.
