A/N:
I know... I know... what am I doing starting a new story?!
But hear me out...
This is the first time where I've started a story, and already know how it's going to go. I already have the entire thing mapped out, from start to finish.
And that's a big deal.
"Shades of Gray", "Seven Years", and all the other stories I've started over the last year, were never full stories when I sat down to write them. They just started out as neat concepts I wanted to write about, so I did.
But because of that, I struggled to keep the story going, always getting stuck somewhere because I had no idea where to take the story. It became frustrating for me as a writer, and for you, waiting for an update.
So, I've decided to abandon those stories and work on this one alone.
The good news is, if you liked those stories, this story will include some of the best parts of them.
I know some of you probably have whiplash from how many times I've posted and removed things, but I need to feel comfortable with what I write, so I'm going to do what I need to do.
Having said that, I love each and every one of you who reach out and actually want to hear more about these stories. I really hope you like this one, as it's the first one I'm truly excited to write.
In a dim, oppressive cell hidden within the depths of the Imperial palace, Anakin's agonized cry tore through the air, as Sith lightning coursed mercilessly through his body. With each jolt, his muscles clenched involuntarily, mirroring the pain that contorted his features. The stench of ozone and seared flesh hung heavy, a tangible reminder of the brutal might wielded by Emperor Palpatine.
As the relentless onslaught ceased, Anakin's scream faded into labored panting. He lay crumpled upon the cold, unyielding floor, his body convulsing with residual shocks, a marionette abandoned by its cruel puppeteer.
Palpatine's voice, a sinister hiss dripping with contempt, pierced the tense silence as he loomed over the broken Jedi. "You will learn your place, Skywalker."
Despite the excruciating pain that wracked his body, Anakin's spirit remained unbroken. With a voice hoarse from agony, he spat back, "Kriff you, Sith." His defiance earned him another surge of lightning, shorter but no less punishing. He curled on the floor, every nerve ablaze with fire.
Bound by Force-nullifying cuffs, Anakin lay at the mercy of his captor. Palpatine's shadow loomed, a malevolent specter relishing the torment he inflicted.
"Now," Palpatine began, his tone falsely congenial, "The purpose of my visit is to bring some welcome news."
Anakin gazed up at him through pain-glazed eyes. "You're going to die soon?" he retorted, unflinchingly.
In response to his insolence, a stormtrooper, prompted by a subtle nod from Palpatine, delivered a brutal strike to Anakin's face with the butt of a blaster rifle. The forceful blow sent a jolt through his skull, fresh blood dribbling from his split lip. A hollow laugh escaped Anakin's lips, devoid of mirth, as he tasted blood and bitterness.
Unfazed, Palpatine continued, "As I was saying… today marks Empire Day, the anniversary of our great Empire's inception, foiling the futile schemes of the Jedi." Anakin's response came in the form of a contemptuous spit of blood, widening Palpatine's malicious grin. "And it's the seventh anniversary," he continued, "A significant number on Naboo, symbolizing completion."
Summoning the remnants of his strength, Anakin propped himself against the wall, still trembling from the electric assault. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the cold stone, seeking refuge in the darkness behind his eyelids, a meager escape from the Sith Lord's presence.
"I mention that, because this year, we honor my home planet, Naboo." Sidious paused, and a wicked smile crept across his lips. "It's just a shame Senator Amidala isn't here to witness it."
Anakin's eyes snapped open at the mention of Padmé, fury blazing within them. He knew Palpatine had something to do with his late-wife's death, the Sith Lord's enjoyment in reminding him of her passing, a knife in an already gaping wound.
Palpatine reveled in the feel of Anakin's anguish, his sinister smile growing wider. Chuckling at the broken Jedi's torment, Palpatine knew he had done what he came in here to do. "Well, I should prepare for my speech," he said, his tone casual and dismissive. "But don't worry, I'll have a holo brought in for you. Wouldn't want you to miss the festivities." His laughter echoed through the cell as he turned to leave, his dark cloak trailing behind him like a sinister shadow, leaving Anakin alone with his torment and haunting memories.
Not long later, a stormtrooper arrived, setting up a portable holo-projector in the corner, its screen springing to life with the state-run news service, broadcasting propaganda praising Emperor Palpatine as the galaxy's savior. Anakin watched, a bitter taste in his mouth, as the holo spun tales far removed from the harsh reality he endured.
After he left, Anakin sat enveloped by the flickering images from the holo, their ghostly light casting eerie shadows against the cell's walls. He sighed, a deep, resonant sound that echoed in the stone chamber. The relentless drone of propaganda stood in stark contrast to the flood of memories that now besieged him. Visions of Padmé, his days as a Jedi, and a past filled with hope relentlessly intruded upon his thoughts. These memories, once a source of warmth, now stung with the coldness of what had been irrevocably lost.
As the day dragged on, time became an elusive specter, each moment stretching and warping under the weight of solitude. The only indication of time's passage was the holo's light, shifting from the artificial brightness of day to the subdued hues of night.
To Anakin, these changes were inconsequential, mere backdrops to his unending cycle of grief and regret. The constant flicker of images on the screen, each a hollow echo of the world outside, underscored his isolation. A deep, unrelenting ache sat heavy in his chest, a stark reminder of the solitude that engulfed him.
Then there was the Force, or lack thereof. It was once a vibrant, guiding presence in Anakin's life, but now had dwindled to a mere whisper, a distant reverberation in the vastness of his solitude. Anakin sighed… a weary, lonesome sound.
"Why? Why have you forsaken me?" Anakin's voice, a fragile whisper laden with sorrow, trembled in the air.
It was a mournful plea, a soft cry to the Force that seemed to have abandoned him. "Was I not the Chosen One?" he asked, his voice strained, tears beginning to cloud his vision. "Am I not your child?" The solitude of the last seven years had quelled the raging inferno of his anger, leaving in its wake a simmering, resentful ember against Palpatine, the Jedi, the Force, and himself.
Slowly, the ember of his resentment began to ignite once more, fanned by the echoes of his unanswered questions. "What have I done to deserve this fate, huh? What is it that you want from me?" he demanded, his voice growing louder, frustration seeping through. The dam of his restrained emotions began to show cracks, tears trickling down his face.
"I need to know!" he raised his voice, his plea echoing off the cold stone walls. "If you have truly left me to this fate, then please, release me from this torment!"
Rising to his feet, the clanking of his chains punctuating his movement, Anakin's despair transformed into a fervent outburst. "Answer me!" he shouted, his voice rich with pain and accusation. "You were my guide, my protector. I gave everything for you. Why have you turned your back on me?" His voice cracked under the weight of his anguish. "Do you not care for me any longer? Give me a sign. Prove to me that I am still your chosen one! Show me that you still care!"
In the suffocating stillness that followed, Anakin summoned every ounce of his fading strength, his voice thundering in a final, desperate plea: "SHOW ME!"
In the wake of Anakin's raw, desperate plea, the cell was abruptly plunged into an enveloping darkness. The sudden power failure felt almost like an answer to his call, an eerie, disconcerting response from the universe. The mechanical restraints binding him, previously unyielding in their grip, began to loosen, their hold on him weakening. Anakin was engulfed in a mix of confusion and surprise, wondering if this unexpected turn of events was merely a coincidence, something he had done, or a direct consequence of his anguished outcry to the Force.
Then he felt it… a sensation, long forgotten yet intimately familiar, as it began to seep back into his mind. The Force, which had seemed like a distant dream just moments ago, now started to stir, its presence trickling through the cracks of his weakened cuffs. Though resentment and bitterness still raged within him, Anakin couldn't help but welcome this resurgence. It was like a breath of fresh air in the stifling oppression of the cell. He inhaled deeply, feeling the Force wrap around him, a fleeting solace amidst his despair.
Lifting his gaze to where the ceiling had vanished into the blackness, Anakin's voice was a soft murmur, a mix of defiance and weary acceptance. "Don't think this lets you off the hook," he whispered to the unseen Force, his tone heavy with bitterness. "But thank you." In that moment, there was a shift in him. A readiness, a resolve, hardened within his spirit, preparing him to confront whatever uncertainties lay beyond the walls of his prison.
Outside Anakin's cell, the sudden darkness threw the facility into chaos. Alerted to the power failure during his speech, Emperor Palpatine quickly realized the potential of Skywalker's escape. With a subtle gesture, barely noticeable amid the confusion, he commanded a squad of stormtroopers to secure Anakin's cell, their boots echoing ominously down the corridor. Accompanying them was a doctor, armed with a sedative — a clear sign of Sidious's intent to keep Anakin subdued and imprisoned.
Back inside the cell, Anakin began to sense the approach of his captors, and mustered every ounce of strength to free himself from the restraints. The movement, once a simple flick of the wrist for a Jedi of his caliber, was now an arduous task, his body unaccustomed to using the Force after so long.
After being released from his cuffs, Anakin prepared himself for the confrontation, his body still reeling from the recent onslaught of Sith lightning. The brutal torture he had endured at Palpatine's hands had left him weakened, his muscles trembling and uncoordinated, a stark contrast to the strength and precision he once possessed. The electric assault had not only scarred his flesh but had also disrupted his nervous system, leaving him struggling to muster the physical prowess needed for the fight ahead.
The sequential unlocking and opening of the outer doors leading to Anakin's cell created a symphony of ominous sounds. Each metallic clang and mechanical hiss served as a harbinger of the impending confrontation, a tense prelude to the inevitable clash that was about to unfold. The cacophony of approaching footsteps heightened the tension, creating a palpable sense of urgency in the dimly lit cell.
As the final door to Anakin's cell opened, revealing the squad of stormtroopers, he tensed, ready to engage despite his compromised state.
Anakin launched himself forward with a burst of effort that was more about desperate determination than the skilled execution of a trained Jedi. His movements were clumsy and pained, each motion a battle against the lingering effects of the torture. He could feel the disconnect between his intentions and his body's responses, a frustrating reminder of his physical limitations. The stormtroopers, accustomed to dealing with predictable, subdued prisoners, were taken aback by the ferocity and unpredictability of his attack.
Amidst the chaos of the skirmish, flashes of Anakin's former combat prowess surfaced. Years of Jedi training and battlefield experience fought against the barriers imposed by his prolonged captivity and recent abuse. The stormtroopers, initially caught off guard, quickly adapted to his unpredictable style, their disciplined training kicking in.
As the fight ensued, Anakin's body protested each exertion. The aftereffects of the Sith lightning — the muscle spasms, the searing pain that coursed through his nerves — clashed with his determination to overcome his captors. The physical strain was compounded by the emotional toll of his imprisonment. The realization that his body could no longer respond as it once did was a bitter pill to swallow, fueling his anger and desperation.
Despite these challenges, Anakin's connection to the Force began to stir within him, providing a glimmer of hope amidst his struggle. It flowed through him, reigniting the ember of resilience that had long lain dormant in his spirit. This growing connection, while still a shadow of his former abilities, gave him a renewed sense of purpose and strength.
In the aftermath of the skirmish, Anakin stood, panting heavily, amidst the defeated stormtroopers strewn across the floor. His intense gaze then locked onto the lone figure remaining in the room, the doctor.
Operating on pure instinct, he hoisted the butt of a downed trooper's blaster rifle, ready to neutralize this last obstacle to his freedom. Yet, as the dim emergency lighting in the corridor cast its glow on the man's face, a moment of hesitation arrested Anakin's motion, his arm hanging in the air.
Knelt before him, with his hands up in a defensive posture, was Dr. Nisan Sheel, one the doctors that frequently came into Anakin's cell to draw blood and perform other tests.
While most of the other doctors Sidious had arranged to work on him were cold and callous, Dr. Sheel was an unexpected beacon of humanity during his dark days of captivity. The medic's small acts of kindness – an extra portion of food, brief exchanges that offered a glimpse of the world outside – had been like lifelines, sustaining fragments of Anakin's soul he had presumed lost in the abyss of his imprisonment.
"Doc?" Anakin's voice cut through the tension, tinged with a blend of surprise and recognition.
Dr. Sheel, his eyes wide with a palpable fear, locked eyes with Anakin. "Please... don't hurt me," he pleaded, his voice quivering with vulnerability.
The weapon in Anakin's hand gradually lowered as his expression softened, the hardened visage of a warrior yielding to the humanity beneath. "I'm not going to hurt you, doc," he assured, his tone now infused with a newfound gentleness. Anakin extended a hand, helping Dr. Sheel to his feet in a gesture that was both careful and protective. "But you need to leave – now. Palpatine won't spare anyone he finds here after I'm gone," Anakin added, urgency and genuine concern lacing his words.
Turning away from Dr. Sheel, Anakin refocused on his urgent escape, moving towards a downed stormtrooper. He determinedly began stripping them of their armor and putting it on, battling against his weakened, unresponsive body. What was once a routine task for a skilled Jedi such as himself now felt like a colossal struggle.
Anakin grappled with each piece of the ensemble, his fingers fumbling with clasps and straps. The physical struggle mirrored his internal battle: a desperate fight for freedom, survival, and the reclamation of a sense of self long oppressed by the harsh realities of his imprisonment.
In a silent act of solidarity, Dr. Sheel stepped forward, helping Anakin in securing the armor's more cumbersome components. Surprised by the doctor's gesture, Anakin momentarily paused. While accustomed to Dr. Sheel's small acts of kindness during medical treatments, this direct aid in such a perilous moment was unexpected. It invoked a complex mix of confusion and gratitude within Anakin, adding a new dimension to their relationship, hinting at a deeper sense of loyalty and compassion from Dr. Sheel.
Anakin offered a nod of thanks, silently acknowledging the doctor's unexpected but appreciated assistance. Together, they worked to secure the armor amidst chaos and uncertainty, a temporary alliance forged in adversity. Anakin briefly wondered about Dr. Sheel's motives for taking such a risk but recognized the urgency of their situation left little room for such musings.
Now fully clad in the heavy stormtrooper armor, Anakin took a moment to gather his bearings. The armor represented a paradox, serving simultaneously as a protective shield and a symbolic reminder of the shackles he was striving to break. It embodied the dual nature of his situation: the physical confinement he was escaping and the gradual re-emergence of his self-determination.
Making their way out of the Imperial Palace, Anakin and Dr. Sheel emerged into the teeming streets of Imperial Center, their steps measured and cautious amidst the revelry of Empire Day. The capital throbbed with life, illuminated by a kaleidoscope of neon lights and resonating with the vibrant pulse of celebration. Yet, for Anakin, hidden beneath the guise of a stormtrooper, the festive atmosphere was a jarring contrast to the gravity of his situation. Each step he took was laden with effort, the weight of the armor he donned symbolizing the emotional and psychological burdens that weighed heavily upon him.
Wading through the sea of jubilant citizens, Anakin's determination began to falter under the weight of exhaustion. His initially steady and purposeful stride gradually became unsteady, each step betraying the immense toll the escape had exacted on him. Sensing Anakin's growing weariness, Dr. Sheel steered him towards the seclusion of a side alley. There, Anakin removed his helmet, revealing a visage etched with fatigue. He leaned against the cool durasteel of the building, closing his eyes, each breath he drew heavy with the burden of his fatigue.
Opening them again, he glanced at Dr. Sheel, his gaze holding a complex mix of gratitude and puzzlement. "Why are you helping me?" he asked at last, his voice tinged with both suspicion and a budding sense of trust, his gaze holding a complex mix of gratitude and puzzlement as it settled on Dr. Sheel.
Dr. Sheel hesitated, as if his answer was drawn from a well of deep memories. Finally, he spoke, uttering just one word—a name. "Aayla Secura."
Anakin's expression furrowed in confusion at the mention of his old friend. "What about her?"
"I owe her my life," Dr. Sheel said, his voice carrying a solemn weight. "During the Clone Wars, my lab was broken into by a group of battle droids, and she stormed in, lightsaber in hand, and turned the tide. Her bravery gave us a chance to escape." Dr. Sheel's eyes held a distant glimmer as he relived the moment. He smiled softly. "I'm merely returning the favor, in my own way."
Anakin regarded Dr. Sheel with a new level of understanding and respect. The legacy of the Jedi, embodied in a deed from the past, had unknowingly woven their fates together. With a nod of acknowledgment, Anakin pushed away from the wall, a fresh wave of resolve fortifying his steps. He replaced his helmet, and together they continued their journey through the crowded streets, seeking a ship to ferry them away from the heart of Imperial power.
Moving away from the epicenter of the Empire Day celebrations, Anakin and Dr. Sheel entered a quieter sector of Imperial Center. The clamor and jubilation of the crowd faded into a distant hum here, and the streets were less thronged, the ambiance noticeably calmer. "We need to find a ship," Anakin murmured, his voice low and decisive. "An older model would be ideal," he added, his strategic mind considering the practicalities of their escape. Dr. Sheel nodded silently, offering no challenge to Anakin's directive, trusting in the judgment of the battle-hardened former Jedi. They exchanged a knowing look and then split up to scour the area for a suitable means of escape.
Navigating through the quieter streets of Imperial Center, Anakin's mind raced with memories of a hidden hangar in this area, a place he had frequented in a different life. He wondered if Dex, the Besalisk owner of said hangar, was still around, considering the Empire's stance towards non-human species. Hope mixed with uncertainty as he moved towards the concealed location, the possibility of a friendly face amidst a city of strangers a comforting thought.
Reaching the entrance to the hidden hangar, Anakin pushed aside a discreet panel, revealing the dimly lit interior. To his surprise and relief, there was Dex, engrossed in repairing a ship. The Besalisk looked up, initially cautious at the sight of the stormtrooper armor. Dex's guarded demeanor, typical in the presence of the Empire, was evident.
"You have no idea how good it is to see a friendly face," Anakin expressed, his voice conveying genuine relief.
Dex's brows furrowed in confusion. The idea of a stormtrooper being a friend was incongruous to him. But as Anakin removed his helmet, revealing his identity, Dex's expression transformed from confusion to shock. "Anakin? Anakin Skywalker?" he uttered, disbelief mixing with recognition.
A weary smile crossed Anakin's face. "Hello, Dex." The Besalisk responded with a warm, four-armed hug, his relief palpable. "I heard you had died," Dex said, releasing Anakin from the embrace.
"It's a long story," Anakin replied, shaking his head slightly. "But for another time. I need to get off planet quickly."
Dex nodded, his eyes conveying understanding. He gestured towards the ship he was working on. "This one's ready. She's not the newest model, but she's reliable."
Anakin nodded, his eyes filled with gratitude, the prospect of escape now tangible. "Get her ready for me. I'll be right back," he said, slipping his helmet back on to go fetch Dr. Sheel.
He located the doctor conversing with a Rodian about possible ships for sale, but the alien quickly departed upon seeing Anakin in stormtrooper armor. Without wasting time, Anakin gestured for Dr. Sheel to follow him back to the hangar.
Inside, Anakin introduced Dr. Sheel to Dex. "Doc, this is Dex. Dex, Dr. Sheel— he helped me escape."
Dex's gaze shifted between the two men, then solidified on Dr. Sheel. "Anyone who helps Anakin is a friend of mine."
The doctor smiled and Dex's focus shortly shifted back to Anakin. "So, what's your next move?" he inquired, his tone suggesting both curiosity and a readiness to assist.
"I'm going to Naboo," Anakin replied, his voice carrying a quiet determination that belied the tumult of emotions within him.
Initially, Dex's features contorted into a look of bewilderment, clearly puzzled by Anakin's choice of destination. Why would Anakin, fresh from an escape, head straight into the lion's den, Palpatine's home planet? However, as the cogs of understanding turned in his mind, his expression shifted to one of poignant comprehension. "Ah, Naboo," he murmured, a heavy realization dawning upon him. "I— I understand."
Anakin offered him a pained smile.
As Anakin and Dr. Sheel prepared the ship for departure, Dex's assistance proved invaluable. He provided them with the necessary supplies and clearance codes for a smooth takeoff. The moment was bittersweet as Anakin realized he was leaving behind another fragment of his past, but the urgency of escape overshadowed everything else.
"Dex, I can't thank you enough," Anakin said. "I hope I won't get you into trouble for this. I—"
"Never mind that," Dex cut him off, waving one of his hands. "Just take care of yourself. I've heard what it's like for Jedi out there."
Anakin nodded somberly, and with a final thank you to Dex, boarded the ship with Dr. Sheel, the engines humming to life as they readied for departure.
Breaking free from the atmospheric embrace of Coruscant, they were confronted with the imposing sight of Star Destroyers arrayed in orbit. These colossal vessels, symbols of the Empire's might, loomed like sentinels overseeing the planet, a stark reminder of the regime they were fleeing. "Fortunate we didn't need a speedier exit," Anakin commented, his tone laced with a wry humor that thinly veiled his underlying tension.
Dr. Sheel nodded in silent agreement, his gaze briefly lingering on the formidable fleet before returning to the task at hand. With meticulous care, Anakin steered the ship, navigating a cautious path past the looming Star Destroyers. His familiarity with starship controls was evident, a skill honed through years of experience. He worked on plotting their course to hyperspace, his hands deftly adjusting the navigation settings, each movement a blend of precision and urgency.
With the hyperspace coordinates securely input, Anakin initiated the jump to lightspeed. The ship lurched forward, leaving the star-studded backdrop of space behind as it entered the surreal expanse of hyperspace. The viewport was awash with the mesmerizing blues and whites of the tunnel-like effect, a spectacle that never ceased to fill Anakin with a mix of wonder and a fleeting sense of liberation.
The moment of tranquility was short-lived. As Anakin attempted to stand from the pilot's seat, a wave of exhaustion overwhelmed him. His legs, unsteady and weak from the ordeal, buckled beneath him, sending him tumbling to the floor. Dr. Sheel, reacting swiftly, rushed to his side, concern etched on his face. It was evident that Anakin was teetering on the edge of his physical limits, the cumulative strain of the escape manifesting in his drained expression and faltering strength.
Gently, Dr. Sheel supported Anakin, guiding him to the ship's medical bay. There, he activated the medical droid, which was fortunately equipped with a vitapak. With careful hands, he removed Anakin's armor, revealing the IV line still attached to his arm. Dr. Sheel then administered the vitapak through the IV, infusing Anakin with much-needed nutrients and medication. Observing Anakin's weary state, he also prepared a light sedative, explaining its purpose to Anakin to ensure his comfort and trust. As the sedative took effect, Anakin's eyelids grew heavy, a silent acknowledgment of gratitude in his gaze before he succumbed to the much-needed rest.