Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or Disney. I am a little little person who has no say in anything Star Wars, this is a hobby.
Anakin finally wrapped his hands around the rat that had been biting at his ankles all night. The tiny rodent had been annoyingly quick. It was a little game that he and rats would play at night when both were too hungry to sleep. The rats would nibble at his skin while he swore and swung at them. The game often left Anakin with little bite marks and often sick from infection. That was the worst part of the game, when the bitemarks became pus-filled and sickly. Master had beaten him bloody for letting himself get sick. It was cheaper to take a slave to whatever passed for a Doctor on Tatooine than to buy a new one. Still, that didn't make Master any less furious.
But at last, his thin shrunken fingers clasped around squealing fur. He had finally won one of the games, holding the rodent up to the sky as to admire his prize. It was skinny, sand covered and ugly, a painfully obvious similarity between the two of them. He supposed he could feel a kinship with the rats, he certainly couldn't blame them for the scars on his legs. However, this time he won, and this time he would claim the prize the rats had so many times before. The rats, when they won, would take small chucks of what little he had left on his bones. It was only fair that he claimed the same prize, right. He had the squeezing rodent to his mount, feeling the fur tickle his nose and the tail whip his eye as it tried to escape, though, his weak grip was stronger then the rat's attempts at escaping.
He was so hungry. So unbelievably hungry that he imagined it as anything else as he bit down. A his teeth bore down into the flesh, the fur flowing between his teeth, he couldn't help but gag. How was he supposed to eat this?
His jaw clenched, and he tried again, somehow doing even worse than last time. It was far too nauseating.
Left with little to no choice, Anakin closed his eyes and opened his maw wide, throwing the whole rat into his mouth. If he couldn't bite down, then at the very least, hopefully, the rat would scurry down his throat.
It didn't; instead, it squealed and clawed at his cheek. It didn't so much crawl down his throat as it did thrash. Its body was a hurricane of sharp feet and nauseating fur. Eventually, he felt a tail whip the back of his throat, and it all came out.
A waterfall of saliva and stomach acid flooded out of his mouth, carrying the rat with it. The little rodent twisted and turned while Anakin held his pained stomach, losing what little he had left. The rat quickly scurried off before he could get another chance to finally have a meal.
"Rats now?"
A piggish man laughed from outside his cage. His nose was too big for his face, his brow came over his eyes, and his voice seemed to choke on the fat in his throat. The man probably had some Gamorrean in his family, or he was just an ugly man. He always liked to believe it was an equal mix.
Anakin hadn't noticed him in his hunger. Usually, he was quite good at noticing people approaching, yet the pain from his empty stomach was blinding.
"Come on, the Master wants you." The piggish man sneered, his bulbous nose becoming a mountain range of wrinkles and folded skin. Fat rounded fingers struggling to fit the old rusted key into the lock. Anakin wanted to ask why, but only a dry cry would escape his chapped lips.
"Oh God, you reek." That was the last thing Anakin heard before a hand wrapped around his arm, yanking to whatever awaited him.
Whatever the Master had in store for him, it had to be worse than his cage if it was worth taking him out.
It had been quite some time since Anakin had worn anything considered 'pleasant'. Looking at himself in the passing reflections of the windows, he noticed the shell of a man looking back at him. He was more of a mannequin than a man. A dressed-up doll. Whatever the reason his punishment was being called short, it must have been important as he was dressed remarkably fine. Well, as nice as a slave could. He had also been given some nutrient paste as well to prevent himself from fainting. The paste had been foul, and Anakin threw up when he had pushed the substance past his lips.
At least he was strong enough to stand now. However, whatever was worth ending his punishment early on was not something he was eager to find out. The only time Anakin would ever get rewarded was rare circumstances like when his Master had given him meat for rebuilding a HK-47 unit of some far-distant relative of a Hutt.
Eventually, he, along with his two escorts, had finally entered the room. The trio was greeted by the sight of his Master sitting at the head of his long glass dining table, covered in plates of flat bread, different kinds of dips and bantha meat. How he wanted to rush over to the table and shovel as much as he could into his mouth as possible till he threw up, which admittedly, wouldn't be much. The shock of actually having food might kill him, but it would be worth it.
The feast was so alluring that he had almost missed the two black-robed men sitting patiently at the other side of the table. Only one of which happily sucked the marrow from the bones on his plate.
Black robes? They must be from off-planet to wear such clothing; they would be cooked alive three hours in the suns. Truthfully, the two men looked half-cooked already; their hair was drenched in sweat, and Anakin could see that when one reached to move in their chair, that the clothes clung uncomfortably to their skin.
Still, Anakin kept any and all comments about the foreigners' poor sense of attire to himself as he silently entered the room. His master didn't register his presence so much; instead, he continued to speak to his guest as if he hadn't locked him in a cage and let him starve.
"You didn't find the trip too taxing, I would hope. Tatooine is far from the core, and the Corellian Run seems to be more astroid than space these days. I've purchased a fine little Twi'lek thing from Nar'Shadda for myself, which was supposed to arrive a week ago, but these blasted space rocks are fucking with mapping; the particularly large ones have the gravity to pull them off course. God forbid the Hutts send a ship with a half-decent hyperdrive."
"No, we didn't." One of the men said, his voice stern and coarse as if his tongue had been wrapped in sand.
"Although we docked our ship at Bestine to refuel," The second robed one added, his voice was much more upbeat, prideful, almost happy. "We decided to take speeders and enjoy the sights. Though, once you've seen one big sand dune, you see them all."
They must be wealthy or far from here if they were willing to be tricked by the docks at the capital. The prices at Bestine for fuel would cost double the price of most places for more often than not worse quality.
"We decided to take speeders and enjoy the sights. Though, once you've seen one big sand dune, you see them all." None of the three men cared to acknowledge the presence of him as he walked into the room, though, the two foreigners had their eyes longer upon in him a unsettling curiosity.
Was this a test? To see if he had learnt his lesson? Was this his Master's chance at letting him out of the cell? If so, then Anakin wouldn't dare squander his gift to go back to eating real meals rather than rats. He was hungry, and walking was still a bit of a challenge, but the steps came to him easily. Approaching from the side, always staying out of sight, he was there to fill glasses, not be seen, and so he did. He filled his Master's glass first; always, the Master first. Even when someone the Hutts had sent themselves came over to the farm, his Master always had to be served first. It made him feel more important than he was.
The liquid fell into the glass wine cup, and his arms felt the strain of the bottle's weight. His vision blurred, and his head felt like it was being pulled down to the floor as if he had steel strapped to it. However, to his credit, he was able to steadily pour the red without a single drop of spilt.
Before his master had taken a sip, he swirled the wine, an act that he had perfected through many, many broken glasses. Once his master took a sip, smacking his lip and sloshing it through his teeth. After a long and showy display of his wine tasting ability, he gave him the go-ahead to serve his guests through a simple nod.
Anakin's steps were slow and measured, the difficulty of walking becoming more and more apparent with each step. Yet there was more to it than that. He didn't want to be near them. Not that he ever did; his Master's rich friends were prone to making entertainment out of him, and so long as it didn't affect his ability to be an engineer, then his Master was more than often unconcerned. But this was something more primal. His nerves felt as if they were on fire, every step becoming more and more excruciating. Should he just run? Would it be worth getting sent back to the cage to starve?
No, he was just exhausted. He was a good slave, a dutiful slave. It was just pouring glasses, no more, no less. Pushing through that feeling of impending doom, he took fear-ridden step by step towards the other side of the table.
Now that he was closer he could properly see the two men. Both were human; nothing too particularly note-worthy besides the fact they were gorgeous. Most rich people were, money had a way of even making the ugly look at least presentable when you could afford the best possible skincare routine with the best possible haircuts and the best possible clothes. Their skin is fair and without blemish, clearly not from a desert planet.
The first man Anakin served was nothing but smiles and cruel eyes. The cologne that seemed to perspire from him was thick and pungent; to Anikin, who was running on nutrient paste, it was enough stimulation to make him throw up all over the table. Which, thankfully, he didn't.
The man gladly accepted the wine, his gem embroidered rings glittering in the light as he held up his glass eagerly, a smile which would blind the very suns themselves.
Anakin went to pour another glass for the black-robed man of fewer words, but instead covered the rim with his hand before he could begin to pour.
He looked up at Anakin. It was an uncomfortable experience, really; he wasn't used to the people he served looking at him. He was used to leering, lusting, and mocking glances but never used to being looked at. The man had powerful eyes black pupils that acted as an eclipse for the yellow and red sun-like iris. They were beautifully haunting and left Anakin's bowels turning.
Those eyes… they weren't human. He had missed them when he had walked up to them, but Anakin was sure there was something unnatural about them. Whatever hybrid the robed man was, he couldn't recognise it as he had never seen any alien with such horrifically stunning eyes.
"This one is Anakin?" He spoke. And what a voice he had. Every syllable was like venom, dripping with the same unnatural aura that radiated from him.
"He is." His master answered for him. "I have all documentation, medical records and access codes to his transmitter chip."
From out of the loose robe, his Master pulled out a data pad. It was large and thick, the same one his previous master had handed to his current Master and the master before his previous one. His whole identity was in that datapad, his complete existence in the hand of his master.
Anakin was a good slave, though; he didn't need to be told to bring over his records over across to the paired black-robed men but did so anyway. However, before he could even wrap his fingers around the metal, his body held still.
"Stop." A cold voice cut through his ear, a viper waiting in the sand.
"Use the Force, not your hands." The eclipse-eyed man spoke behind his fingers, observing him as if he were a piece of meat with an expression of malicious intrigue.
The Force? What was that? Was he meant to throw it at him? Use more force?
His Master raised a brow at him as he could do nothing more than stand there bewildered. A tired breath escaped the master's lips before he waved a dismissive hand.
"Magic." His master sighed.
"Magic?" Anakin's heart had quickly found itself in his throat. "B-but Master, I cannot." It had been magic that had put him in the cage; magic had forced him to bite into rats.
His master hated magic, and Anakin had hated it when his Master locked him in a cage. By extension, he too, hated magic. He hated how it bubbled inside of him, festering like rats. He hated how it felt when he couldn't contain it anymore, a euphoric release. Something that felt so good was something he shouldn't concern himself with
"Do it."
"But… you told me-" His Master had made it abundantly clear that he only needed Anakin for his hands, not his feet, the next time he used magic he would gladly cut off his toes till he learnt his lesson..
"I know what I said, boy, and now I tell you to do it." His Master gave him an uncaring stare; he had seen more warmth in his master's eyes looking at peggats than they had ever looked at him. "Unless you are refusing an order?"
Never.
The records didn't so much fly across the table as it did bounce and scratch along the surface, taking a painfully long time to screech against the glass table to the pain of everyone's ears.
"As you can see, the boy possesses the magic you seek."
"Barely." The normal-eyed man scoffed, playing with the rim of his glass.
"And what's wrong with him? Not that the Inquisition is not grateful; God knows how many times I've been sent to backwater planets just to find liars eager to sell anyone they can to the Empire. Why would you want to get rid of a Force-sensitive slave? Surely you could find a better buyer in Hutt space?" The normal-eyed man continued.
"Because moving chairs around can be done with or without Magic; the only thing that changes is the money in my account and the amount of ire I earn." His Master explained, waving his hand around as if trying to squat a fly out of the hair.
"Half the Hutts love magic, and the other half despises it. What they all have in common is the hate of the Jedi. Those slugs live long and they can still remember two hundred years ago when the Jedi still existed. Sure, I could sell Anakin to some Hutt who fancies their slaves to serve them food on floating platters, but I'd rather not risk the chance of running into a Hutt that would prefer both Anakin's and my own head on said platters."
The eclipse-eyed man didn't seem so impressed as he scrolled through his information, disapproving hum ever so often. The feeling of having his whole identity exposed and judged wasn't too alien to him. He had swapped Masters every two years or so, climbing up the ladder from richer Master to richer Master as his skills progressed with gadgets more and more. Yet, when the man's callous eyes met his, he wanted nothing more than to go back to that cage.
"We are prepared to go as high as 30 thousand credits." The eclipse-eyed man finally said, placing the data pad back down next to his empty glass.
"Sith credits?" A small twitch went off in his Master's eye. Anakin had to resist a small sigh. It was painfully common for foreigners to get the wrong currency. "In Tatooine, we deal in peggats."
"I'm sure you can find a place to exchange the currency." The stoic-robed man's harsh voice carried a tinge of annoyance.
"If you think the sand people are bad, you haven't gone to the banks! The exchange rate they offer is, at best, unfair and, at worst, bankrupting. You could offer me 60 thousand, and I wouldn't even break even on this deal." A lie, though, not completely unfounded.
"If you want a better exchange rate, go into Hutt space." The normal-eyed, robed man growled, the annoyance clearly sketched on his face. This sand planet had a habit of bringing out the worst in people. Tatooine wasn't actually part of Hutt space, but the crime syndicate presence and Jabba's palace certainly made it seem that way.
"It is not my job to get the current currency. Do you truly think I want this?" His Master took a long sip of his wine. He was enjoying this.
"You would expect us to travel even further from Naboo just so you can get the type of currency you'd like?"
"I would like you to go North to honour the buyer's part of a deal. Anakin isn't going anywhere unless you pay in peggats like everyone else. If you'd like, you can still give me an extra 10k as a deposit and I'll make sure no one else will buy the boy. Which I assure you is something worth considering. I get an offer almost every month. Engineers are prized among moisture farms, and I've gotten plenty of offers on the slave boy. Plenty of offers in the 'correct' currency."
"Are you blackmailing me?" The eclipse-eyed man asked, a thick cocktail of annoyance, morbid surprise and coming off his breath.
"Blackmail? No, no, no, I would never." His master laughed. "I am simply advising you on the proper way to conduct business. You are new to Tatooine, and I would hate to find you misled."
"Then let us be completely transparent." The eclipse-eyed man agreed, except his tone was anything but friendly. Instead, the man took something from his side and placed it broadly on the table in front of him. Anakin had never seen one before, yet he hated it. It felt like the two men before him. Unnatural, sickening. Whatever, that thing wasn't something he wanted to be near.
He had to admit it was beautiful, though. The metal was well-kept and polished to a near-blinding degree. It appeared to have a base of black durite and highlights of aurodium, or at least some kind of alloy of it, creating an elegant-looking contraption. It was admittedly beautiful, but whatever unseen thing that gripped the object made him feel his bowels loosen.
"We are fully prepared to pay any price for the boy. However, it is up to you whether we pay the credits or the plasma price. Either way, we are not leaving without him."
"Please," His master waved his hand. "You refuse to leave, and I refuse your currency. We are at an impasse. Now, we can begin the real negotiations."
This part was always uncomfortable. His master always said, 'When both parties leave the table unhappy, a fair deal has been struck,' though he never wanted a fair deal. With the two men outnumbered one to three by the guards, it looked as if his master would get what he wanted.
As always.
"What do you want?"
"I am not a greedy man. All I want is something you already have in excess. I want one of those." His master pointed to the object sitting before the eclipse-eyed man.
"You fancy yourself an Inquisitor." The normal-eyed man smirked, taking the time to lean back in his chair.
"No," His master's smile didn't reach his eyes. "I fancy myself someone who was meant to be more than just a humble moisture farmer."
Humble wasn't a word Anakin would have used for his master.
"The kyber in that hilt will help me live a lavish life and build connections that I couldn't have before. Considering I assume you each have at least one in possession on your person, I wouldn't be wrong to say that you are in excess of such a substance. Coruscant is the only place in the Galaxy where kyber can be found. Quite the collector's item, you Inquisitors have created quite the oligopoly. Taking lessons from the Mandoliarians and their beskar?" His master smirked, feeling as if he was the smartest person in the room. "Give me one measly lightsaber, and we can forget any mention of peggats or credits."
"Our lightsaber is worth more than any number of peggats on this miserable sand heap." The normal-eyed man's smirk quickly died.
"Then you are more than welcome to leave, though. Do not expect to get the boy even if you come back."
"Why you-!"
"Very well." The eclipsed-eyed man held up a hand to silence his companion.
"In fact, I'll even grant you mine," he confidently wrapped his hand around the tube-like object, which Anakin assumed was the lightsaber.
It certainly was impressive, though he was a little offended. His abilities as an engineer had made him a prized slave, he was something sought after. His skills had made him useful, had made him valuable in the eyes of his Masters, and something that was valuable was well kept, healthy and, more importantly, alive. But to be traded for something so small? A little bit of aurodium? Surely his master wouldn't trade him for something like that? Was he worth so little?
The man flicked the hilt across the table, and unlike Anakin's previous poor attempt with the datapad, the lightsaber flew smoothly across the table, stopping perfectly in front of his master.
It had been no surprise to anyone in the room that the two foreigners gave in to his Master's demands. There had been six guards in the room; two had been on either side of the Master, and the other four were each in a corner.
The two men were in the centre of the room, no blasters in sight. They were outnumbered, out ranged and out-witted, as Anakin himself could have told them there was no winning against his Master. If they had, no doubt, Anakin would have had to bury the bodies. The Master would blame him for bringing this conflict into his house with his magic. Anakin could only hope his master would be feeling generous enough to offer a shovel and not cut off any toes.
"I'm glad you could come to see reason." His Master'S teeth shone with an arrogant pride. "This is how we conduct business on Tatooine. I know the concept of negotiation is lost on you imperial savages-"
Whatever his Master was trying to say was caught in his throat as instead, his brow became furrowed in confusion. During his own speech, he tried to grab the lightsaber, no doubt to flaunt his new tool in front of the very people he got it from. However, his knuckles turned white, and a vein bulged in his neck as he tried to lift the tube from the table on for it not even to budge.
Not that it ever would. Anakin gave a small glance at the lightsaber, and while there was no visible hand. He could feel something grasp the object down to the table like an anchor. How it wasn't shattering the glass table was a mystery to him, although, the answer seemed obvious. Magic.
"You seem to be struggling?" The eclipsed-eyed smirked, his own perfect teeth tunstained from not drinking the wine.
His master grumbled something under his breath, his face turning red from both exertion and embarrassment. No doubt his master was aware of the use of magic, yet his master, who had so venomously despised magic, believed he could outmuscle it.
He couldn't.
"Pick it up." The eclipse-eyed man commanded.
"Pick. It. Up." The pronunciation shook Anakin to his core. Whatever way the man could twist his voice, it made it painful just to hear.
"This is painful to watch." The normal-eyed man teased.
"Painful?!" His master screeched, his voice strained from exertion, face blood red in anger and embarrassment.
"You come into my house, humiliate me. You think you know pain? I'll tell you what is painful, on Tatooine, we tie our disobedient slaves to a pole during a sand storm naked and let nature do its work, it's called sand stripping the way the high-speed sand wind will peel your skin off. I have yet to see any magic stop that, though, I certainly look forward to finding out."
"Is that so?" Humour found its way into the cold, callous voice.
"I will have you beaten, stripped and tied to a pole by the end of the day. You are nothing but foreign filth, uncouth fools, disgusting-" Anakin felt a hint of magic and instinctively, his head flicked to his Master just in time to see the lightsaber turn slightly, as to point at the arm of his master before-
A hum deafened his master's roaring. A red plasma blade erupted from the hilt cutting through all that stood in it's way, including his master's arm, severing it off at the bicep.
The smell of cooked meat made his stomach turn and painfully made his mouth water.
"You should have stopped at savages." The cold man hissed, his chilling voice warmed with heated anger.
The guards and himself, stunned by the act of magic, had their blasters still weakly hanging in their hands. Yet, the pained screams of his Master knocked everyone out of it soon. Yet not soon enough.
The saber shot back to him before the blaster bolts could find their mark. The two men with two hauntingly gorgeous red plasma blades seem to dance between each other effortlessly. But, most impressively was the way that the men could seemingly deflect the blaster bolts with their sabers.
The hail of blaster bolts began and the bodies began hit the floor. Yet, to his surprise, it had not been the bodies he had expected. The two-robed men were inhuman, the speed of which they moved was like nothing he had seen before. The two were a red hurricane, unrelenting and fierce as no matter how many bolts came their way, they were sent back till only the two men stood in a circle of cinders. A scar left by their sabers.
He couldn't help but look at the two men in awe, they weren't normal. His master came to the same realisation quickly too as a chair hit the ground hard as the man Anakin had never so much as bowed to another man was now crawling away on all for in a hurried attempt to get away, his feet tripping over each other.
An invisible hand grasped his ankle and ripped him across the glass table. Glasses and wine crashed to the floor as his Mastee was dragged painfully across the table picking up shards of glass. He twisted and convulsed trying to get himself out of the invisible grip of the normal-eyed man, but it only left him with more and more scars as the glass dug in deeper. Eventually the Master's begging and sobbing came to an end after a very visible hand gripped his Master's throat after he finally made his painfully sharp journey across the long dinner table leaving a long trail of red.
"Take the boy!" His voice gargled as he struggled to get what little air he could past the normal-eyed man's strong grip, "Just let me go."
"I think you know I won't." His smile was cruel but as pretty as the man. However, realising that there was still someone alive in the room his head fell to the side giving him an annoyed glance.
"Are you going to be a problem?" The normal-eyed man raised a brow towards him.
God, he wanted to run.
Anakin quickly shook his head no, it seemed to be enough for his new masters who paid no attention to Anakin, and rather instead to the suffering of which they there were soon to inflict on his old one.
"It was called sand stripping, no?" The eclipse-eyed man asked, his voice a callous mix of cruelty and curiosity.
"I'll go find some rope and something we can tie him to." The normal-eyed man almost seemed to squeal in delight.
—
Padme awoke in pain to the sound of the ship's engine, a feeling she thought she would have grown accustomed to a year ago, yet still she hadn't. Her ribs were bruised, and her fingers, which had been delicate, fit only for lifting glasses of wine and signing documents, were now calloused and bore small scars on her pale palms. Still, she pushed through the pain and raised her body for another excruciating day.
Her noble gowns and dresses had been left back home, now she only wore black like some widow. She supposed that made some sense, every passing day she felt death crept a little closer. As a child she would run upstairs when she turned the light off to escape some sort of shadow creature, is was strange how reminiscent she felt to that little girl who ran. Except she couldn't run this time, it seemed as if the shadow creatures had finally caught her.
No longer did Padme Amidala stand in the mirror before her. Instead a stranger stared back at her. What was once beautiful long hair had been cut short, purposely uneven and dyed black. She wore no make-up but instead dirt they had literally brought onto the ship purely for the sake of rubbing it on her face. Pimples and rashes covered her once flawlessly moisturised face. Not even her eyes were the same as what were once brown eyes were now a rather dull faded blue thanks to the coloured contacts she wore.
She had no time to mourn Padme Amidala. Today was the birth of Sabè and quite possibly her death.
By the time she had been fully dressed and prepared for the day, she was the last one to arrive in the common room of the ship. Her Father had been waiting for her alongside her mentor for the past three years. Fett.
Her Father was eating a small plate of half-eaten toast whilst Fett gorged himself on fruit, meat and bread, eating enough for both of the men to make up for her Dad's weak appetite.
"Father, Fett." Padme greeted. Fett gave a side glance, the bacon grease glossing his lips, whilst her father gave her a meek look. His eyes were red and she could count the bags under his eyes like rings of a tree. She could count the days he hadn't slept and if she didn't know any better he was trying to go for some sort of record.
"Padme," Her father looked past her. What had been her Father had been slowly eaten away over three years. What once had been strong and prominent eyes had become sunken and hollow, his body had noticeably shrunk to the point his clothes were now baggy, and there was a scent of despair that seemed to follow her Father around.
"Please join us. I will have the chief bring you your breakfast at once."
"She'll need it." Fett chuckled into his food, earning him a glare from her Father. However, it was weak and lacked the strength it used to have. Not that it would have done much to dissuade a man like Fett.
Padme joined the two men at the table sneaking a glance at a strawberry on Fett's plate, which didn't go unnoticed by the way he gripped the knife before stabbing the fruit with unnecessary force. Arse. He was abrasive as he had been when she first met him three years ago on Naboo and somehow had only managed to get more piggish, if that was somehow even possible.
"How far away are we?" She asked taking a seat next to Jango. He, as usual, reeked of sweat and whatever he had been drinking the night before. You would think with all the money he is getting paid he could afford some deodorant.
"We have entered Coruscant space; we will begin to descend soon. The pilot is just trying to find the best route through the storm."
"Dying in the storm might be a kinder fate. I hear Rathtars like prefer playing with maidens before they pop their head off." Fett smirked popping a grape into his mouth. How Padme wished it would stay lodged in his throat and choked him but alas she wasn't so fortunate. He was just being annoying as he always was; Rathtars liked to kill men just as much as women in just as sick ways.
"At least the last thing I'd see would be your face dashed against the concrete." she teased back reaching over taking a sip from his coffee under his loathing watch. It had a burning after taste that only whiskey would achieve. Old alcoholic bastard, still that didn't stop her from taking a much longer and much needed gulp.
"Please, you two, I do not wish to talk about such topics over breakfast." Her father begged, a voice which was once powerful and demanding now withered to a point where he could barely be heard over the heat radiators of the ship. "Besides if I get my way we will not even have to step foot on this accursed planet. Your blood is tested as we speak and we'll be getting it shortly. Once we get it we'll show it to the Inquisitors and get as far away from this hell-hole as possible. Maybe even get out Sith Space, somewhere far East. The Hutts may be disgusting but they honour wealth."
Ugh, the Hutts. Padme made no attempt to hide the disgust on her face. Not that such a dream would ever be achieved, the blood test It wouldn't change a thing. They had done thirty blood tests yet out of those thirty, twenty-one of them had come up positive with Force-sensitivity despite the fact that Padme had never so much as nudged a pencil with her mind. Those nine which had come up negative had been top-secret blood tests done by her father, but when she was required to do any blood test in front of an inquisitor, they had come up positive. Strange how every time she had her blood tested in secret she never possessed enough midi-chlorians to use the Force which she knew for a fact she couldn't. Yet, every time she did a test in front of an inquisitor, it came up positive.
"I won't let the Palpatines get away with this. I know they are behind this, I just need proof." Her father had been trying to get proof for a year now. It was a depressingly comical scene that only a man like Fett could laugh at, which he did, loudly.
"I've never known the Inquisition to let someone go. Well… alive of course." He certainly wasn't wrong. The Inquisitorius didn't exactly have a stellar reputation when it came to its graduation rate. As much as she was loath to admit it she had to admit there was a certain sick genius for forging blood results to send her to this hell. Assassination leads to an investigation and considering she was guarded almost every hour of every day it honestly might just be easier to fake some medical documents.
"You want my advice." He continued swishing around his meat-skewered fork in the air. She rarely did.
"They won't let any big weapons through, but a small vibro-knife hidden in your boot would go amiss." Okay, that wasn't so bad.
"Fett." Her Father warned, even his patience reaching a limit with the Mandalorian.
"Or sleep your way to the top. Certainly has worked before for others." There it was.
"Fett!"
"Do you want your daughter to live or remain 'pure'?" Fett laughed to his plate of fruits and bacon on toast, as if they would applaud him for his jokes.
"What I want is my daughter not to die." Her father's meek eyes glared. "However, I will not stand aside while you try to pimp out my daughter."
"Whatever." If her father's threats scared him, he sure didn't show it. "I just want to get paid. Which I won't if your daughter doesn't use the one thing that someone down there will actually want from her."
Fett, at her father's request, had paid for him to train her in any methods possible for her to live. Every year she lived in the Inquisitorius, he would receive a sizeable bonus that only one of the four Noble Houses could afford. During their first meeting, Padme could remember how he broadly stated that 'you should have bought a twi'lek bitch then. Easier to train someone to spread their legs than fight those bastards'.
It was a miracle that he didn't throw Fett out after that, although his love for her was more than his hate for the man who sat opposite the table.
"I don't think her peers will be too interested in Nabooian literature or interpretative dance. I'm just trying to use what few strengths she has to survive." Fett dropped his knife and fork loudly onto his empty plate. Two large, strong hands pushed himself, leaving the Mandalorian to tower over both the Nabooians.
"I will be in the gym. If you want one last arse kicking for good luck, feel free to join me." He said, giving Padme one last annoying smirk before leaving.
"Don't you worry, " Her father broke their silence. "I won't let you take a step on that planet."
"You don't have a choice." Padme sighed, how many times have they had this conversation now?
"The poor don't have a choice." His eyes darkened, his voice becoming uncomfortably low. "If there is one thing good about this corrupt government, it's that the laws don't apply to you once you reach a certain tax bracket."
"Father," This wasn't the man she knew three years ago.
"Let them come. I'll pay off the bounty hunters, and I have enough Inquisitors under my own personal command to fight off anyone the Darth sends."
"Father."
"The Palpatines will not get away with this. House Parnelli will side with us; my only concern is House Tapalo and Veruna. They have always been close, can't have one without the other. If I could get them to side with me I could force Queen Sanandrassa to arrest that whole accursed house."
"Father!"
"What?!" He yelled.
The volume of his voice shook her to her core. How many times had he yelled at her, she couldn't remember but something childish in her coward in fear from the heat of his voice.
"You have to accept this is happening." She said, finally steeling herself. If she was going to certain death, she could at the very least face her father.
"I can't." His whimpered voice was like glass, a pebble would all it would need to break him.
"I know… But Mother and Sola need you, House Naberrie needs you. You are the only one who openly competes with Sheev. To abandon them just for me is allowing Naboo to become no better than Alderaan."
The mention of the Capital World of the Empire seemed to strike a nerve with him. A planet rotted by crime, slavery, sex trade has become everything he stood against.
"Then what's the alternative?!" Her Father cried, "You die? Cause that is unacceptable."
"I know you are scared," Something she could painfully relate to you. "I am too, but… you just have to believe in me."
"Can you do that for me?" She begged, a meek prayer to her father.
"Believe in you?" Her father repeated, a soft look appeared in his eyes as he observed her. No doubt remembering every time she had come to him with a scrapped knee or help with homework. A shred of the man she loved remained in him, hiding behind his brown tired eyes.
"I can't."
Something in her broke but she didn't know what.
"Then I suppose that makes two of us." she hissed, excusing herself from the table, not daring to meet her father's eyes.
She soon joined Fett into the gym in a foul mood, eager to hit something. Preferably her stupid father, though something told her that wouldn't end well for anyone, including her.
Fett didn't bother to care much for her presence when she walked in, but he soon realised the sour look on her face, causing the Mandalorian to shoot her a large grin.
"Trouble in paradise?"
"Yeah," she scowled. "You're here."
He had the audacity to laugh at her before shrugging. Though, he quickly went back to ignoring her, instead preferring to continue his stretches. Which she of course, silently joined in, save for a few grunts. She mirrored his movements, running through their warm-up as they had hundreds of times to the point it became religious. Warming up certainly was religious to Fett who treated his, and by extension, her, training like a cult.
"I'm going to miss getting paid to knock you around." He smirked at her, that annoying face of his making her brow twitch.
"I'm going to miss punching your stupid face." She growled at him. If there was one thing that was good about her soon to be death, it was that she wouldn't have to deal with him anymore.
After the warm up Padme took the time to take one last look around the ship's gym. There were plenty of weapons that lined the walls. Electrostaffs, stun batons, flamethrowers, a cortosis knife, a range of different blasters and even a book about ysalamiri. They all had one thing in common. Anti-inquisitor weapons.
Electric melee weapons were the few things that could last a few hits from a lightsaber, the flamethrower an easy solution to the lightsaber, the blasters which while usually ineffective was still better than nothing against a lightsaber, certainly in Force inept hands like her own. Finally, the cortosis which is able to turn off a lightsaber. Courtesy of Jango's personal collection, a weapon she would never be able to get her hands on as Fett would never allow her to borrow it. He barely allowed her to touch it due to the brittle nature of the metal.
How Jango had managed to get his hands on it was hard to believe. The metal is illegal to own and the Nobel House of House Bane had completely mined it to completion in order to keep it locked away in their safes. Not even her Father, rich as he was, could get his hands on the rare metal.
At least she didn't have to worry about the ysalamiri as the Sith had effectively wiped out the whole species from the galaxy save for the conservation habitat on one of Mandalore's moons.
"Honestly, what do you believe my chances are?" She asked, throwing around an electro staff between her hands. A showy display of what she had learnt over three years under the unforgiving tutelage of Fett.
"Honestly?" Fett grabbed a stun baton from the wall. It rested comfortable between his hands, as if he had been born with it like a baby and a rattle.
"You'll be lucky to even make it past the threshold of the temple. We've had what? Barely three years of training? That won't cut it. Most people, once they find out they have a Force-sensitive brat, buy whatever training they can afford, probably get them into a military school."
She began the attack. Fett had made it clear that the first strike always mattered. To Inquisitors who could sense attacks, it meant little more than a slight advantage, but to her, who couldn't do that, it meant saving a limb or eye.
She swung hard and fast. There was no beauty to her movements, no showy display of acrobatics or twists and turns like she would see in movies whenever someone used some sort of staff. Instead, she moved as she was taught, effective and violent. Her first strike aimed for his eye, cold and malicious. Had it actually hit her mark, even with a tuned-down electrostaff, it could have still left some permanent blindness.
Fett would never allow it. He backhanded the blow with his baton ,with such force it completely ripped momentum away from her. However, she turned her loss of momentum back into her own as she back peddled, narrowly avoiding Fett's lightning-quick hand making an attempt for her throat.
For such a large man, he was quick. Quicker than she was, stronger too. Unfair didn't even begin to describe it. Her only advantage was her range, as the stun baton couldn't compete with the electro staff's range. Though she would have traded weapons for bodies in a second if she could.
"Even then, fifty to sixty percent die in the first year. Second year is thirty to forty , third is ten to fifteen and finally fourth year five to ten. That leaves only fifteen to thirty percent from the original group to reach graduation. And that's only the kids that even make it into the temple. Who knows how many die before that."
"Fifteen percent?" She spat, her heart dropping with every percentage.
This time Fett went on the offensive. Suddenly, that range her staff gave her seemed so little as the large man used those leg muscles he had built over the years to close the gap faster than she could swing. The books she read in her castles always depicted men like Fett as slow and sluggish. A Golithe that could never keep up with David. What lies she was told in the pursuit of making the weak sound strong. She found that just because some men were big does not mean they were just as slow. He easily overpowered her with just one hand, brutally bringing up the baton under her ribs.
Fuck.
Pain roared through her body, knees hitting the padded mats with as much force as they could as she began to dry retch. Arsehold could have held back a bit. The worst part was he probably was.
"I'm a good teacher, and to your credit, I've had worse students. But do you think your top fifteen material?"
No she didn't. She doubted she was even in the top fifty, which really meant she would die in the first year.
"I'm going to die. Aren't I?" She huffed, clutching at her ribs in pain. No wonder they were always so bruised.
"Most likely."
Yet despite her fears her thoughts didn't dwell on herself, rather, her father. As a child she was always loved by him, without doubt that he would wage war on the Galaxy for her. Now she was afraid she might be right.
—
Anakin poured another glass of wine for the normal-eyed robed man who leaned comfortably back his chair feasting on a platter Anakin had prepared of cheeses, fruits, crackers and thin slices of a meat that the men had called fish. He had no clue what fish was, but it smelt pungent and salty.
"We should get a couple of these back at Naboo." The normal-eyed man teased taking a large sip from his glass.
"You're welcome to try, but Ruwee Nabrerrie will scream at you till you're deaf if you try." The eclipsed-eyed man didn't bother to look up from his datapad. Instead he continued to scroll through whatever was on it, with mild disinterest.
"Swap with me Drallig, I'm sick of House Naberrie. They are boring and pretentious. Let me have a go with the Palpatines."
Anakin sat in silence at the two men bickered. It was strange, Anakin had been used to being ignored. Slaves are meant to serve and not be seen. At first the two men were interested in Anakin, well at least the normal-eyed man was. Though his questions for Anakin died as quickly as he realized that all Anakin knew was gears, wires and sand.
They had told him, well, the eclipse-eyed man had told him. That he was not a slave, yet Anakin couldn't think of them as anything but his new masters.
The eclipsed-eyed man, Cin Drallig, as he had discovered, was a man of few words. Not that Anakin would ever refer to his Master by his name. Instead, his Master occupied his time meditating and communicating over holo to others Anakin didn't recognise. The normal-eyed man was the opposite. He loved to hear the sound of his own voice, quick to jest and tease Anakin. See how much he could get away with by ordering Anakin around until the Eclipsed-eyed man told him off.
Anakin himself had changed quite a bit on the trip from Tatooine to The Core. They had taken the Corellian Run, so the trip had only taken four days. But in those four days Anakin had experience more on the ship then he had in a year on the desert planet.
He never had any restrictions on water. On his first day he had drank so much water he had gotten sick. After he had gotten sick he hadn't been beaten for being so careless. Food was apparent and varied. He was allowed to eat vegetables he had never seen before, juice squeezed from plump moisture filled fruits and had at least some sort of protein which was no longer a rare treat and now expected with all meals.
And the clothes. The clothes! He could finally understand the concept of the clothes making the man. His rags were dirty and always uncomfortable, more sand than fabric. But now? Now he was in black cloth made what felt like angel wings.
The eclipse-eyed man had given Anakin his spare clothes claiming they wouldn't be the best due to the lack of size on him. Still they were the best gift he had ever received.
"Shit," The normal-eyed hissed, the puddle of red wine on his lap apparent "Anakin!"
"Yes Master!" Anakin, ever quick to help had a rag already in hand.
"Don't bother, let him clean his own mess." The eclipse-eyed man had growled, narrowing his dagger like eyes at his peer, annoyed at his carelessness.
"Come with me." The eclipse-eyed man sat up from his seat letting his datapad rest on the table besides his bowl of grapes.
Anakin, not being one to ever refuse a request, followed in silence. Just as the eclipse-eyed man preferred. His new master didn't like to give orders to Anakin, he still did, but he didn't just order him around. It was a flip of a coin whether he would order Anakin or the normal eyed man to do something like calibrating the autopilot or preparing food. Strangely enough it was always in the same tone.
His old master had always used a different tone when giving orders to his guards and slaves. But with his new Master he used the same commanding voice for everyone. To him everyone was below him, all equally worthless.
Eventually the two came to the cockpit of the ship. It hadn't been the first time Anakin had seen one, though, usually they weren't in space and rather in a garage being fixed. It was a major improvement. The stars were beautiful, so large yet from so far away that they were comparable to the grains of sand on great Tatooine dunes.
What was most noticeable however was the large mass before them. The planet was a swirling storm of blackened clouds and crackling lightning that danced from ashen cloud to ashen cloud.
Anakin had been accustomed to storms though those were made of sand nor did it take up an entire planet. Great dunes, it was beautiful, like a black onyx with fleeting white veins of electricity. He never wanted it to leave this view.
"Are we to wait out the storm?"
"We'd be waiting a while." The eclipse-eyed laughed under his breathe, not bothering to look at him, rather, he stared at the Planet with a look of both contempt and pride.
"The planet never stops storming. The rain will be something you'll learn to block out eventually, soon you won't be able to sleep without the howl of the wind and rain. A cruel reminder of the Planet if you ever do leave it. The last scar the planet leaves."
What is rain?
"Never?" Anakin asked in doubt. He had gotten more confident with questions, his voice no longer just an accessory for his master or punished when unwanted.
"The storm isn't fueled by moisture nor air, but something far more potent. It's roaring will never end so long as it is continuously fed."
He didn't even need to ask how. Rather like everything else it was Magic, or rather as he had discovered, the Force, as it was known as by the Empire. The normal-eyed man had always laughed at him when he called it anything but.
Though, to Anakin the planet felt more like a howl than a roar. The planet was pained, bleeding. Anakin recognised the feel but from the almost prideful look of his new captors he better than to give his own opinion.
The planet felt like them after all, of course they would love it. The eclipsed-eyed man reeked of the same energy that the planet cried.
Like second nature Anakin reached out towards the storm. Looking with unseen eyes, feeling with unseen hands. Being surrounded by other magi- Force people, had started to heighten his abilities, or at least let him begin to realise his own. The dead planet of Tatooine had no life, and whatever life it had was dehydrated and starved. But now he felt life everytime one of his new masters would turn a corner. Because of this he was painfully aware of what lied under the ashen cloud of the sick planet.
Creatures of terror, hungrying maws, and things that did not rest even death. The clouds acting as a veil to what laid upon the surface.
"What are those?" He asked a slight tremor echoing in his voice mirroring the horror of which he felt.
"Those will be your teachers. Creatures that have been enhanced, perfected through the Force. Which will in turn, perfect you."
He would be down there with those? Why? What had he done wrong?
"You're scared?" Cin asked, the Inquisitor's curiosity obvious.
"No," Yes.
"I was scared," His master admitted.
"When we first land you're body will try to reject it, it will feel as if you are swallowing poison. But afterwards, you'll spend the rest of your life chasing that high that you felt the first time you let it take over."
The sentiment brought little comfort to him.
"Why don't we land at those stations?"
That was the other thing Anakin noticed about the Planet, it was hard not too. The planet was surrounded by extremely large stations that dwarfed even Jabba's Palace by a significant amount. A single station could easily dock multiple cruiser size ships and yet the planet was surrounded by them toz They didn't feel to have such horrid creatures on them.
"Those are trade stations. The Liberation Coruscant left the planet as the first of the three Ash Worlds created during the Sith Ascendancy." The three Ash Worlds. Anakin had heard of them from time to time in passing mention but never anything significant. Nothing important to Tatooine which only cared about water and profits.
"However, Coruscant sits in a good position for access to hyperspace lanes. Couldn't just abandon such a good trading location. Thus those stations sit in space supplying the demand that was left after Coruscant was liberated.
"Those are heavy turbo lasers." He couldn't help but contain his awe. Anakin had been sold by his master on a loan to a rich weapons dealer. During that loan Anakin had been forced to strip broken ships they had hauled in from old Republic ships that had been destroyed during the Core Liberation.
"Why would this planet needs that? Why not use one of those four moons for trade, they look habitable?" At least more habitable then Tatooine. They could be for defence he guessed but he didn't think pirates were as big as an issue in the Core compared to the Outer Rim like he was used to.
"That same reason as to why there no planetary shields"
The monsters he supposed. He could feel them from here, sick twisted creatures born from something that tainted. The whole planet was like a nest for everything that felt unnatural. Things born out of hate. The stations must serve as both trading and protections against such beasts.
"Don't let anyone find out you're a slave." His Master said, still not bothering to take his eyes off the sick planet. "The Galaxy thinks this place teaches you to be powerful, that only the best warriors survive. It's not. The military creates soldiers, the Inquisitorius creates Inquisitors. Do not mistake those two things for the same thing."
"There was a man called Ki-ADI-Mundi in my second year. He was unparalleled with a lightsaber, I consider myself good but he was better at the time. He could cut down his foes as easily as he breathed and sat comfortably high on the leaderboard. He by all means should have easily graduated, he would have but he had weaknesses just like anyone else. His was that he was unlikable. His lightsaber didn't save him when he was taken in his sleep, strapped to a pillar and beat to death with wooden sticks. Lightsabers would have been too quick." His master continued.
"You are illiterate, malnourished, and carry the stigma of being a slave. Any of those are enough to be ostracized and laughed at. Don't let people find your weakness. They will exploit it any chance they get. But, over these four days I have sensed something powerful in you. I don't doubt so has my colleague. It's why he teases you, keeps you busy with menial tasks, he's intimidated."
Intimidated? By him? Somehow he found that hard to believe but he wouldn't argue with his master.
"Something deep and raw, something slavery kept down waiting to be unchained. You don't need to be powerful to survive to graduation, you don't need to be quick, nor smart, nor charismatic nor attractive. You just need to be desperate, desperate to do anything to survive."
"That is what an inquisitor is at the end of the day. We are what crawls out of the worst part of the galaxy." With that his master left him alone in the cockpit.
Anakin's eyes fell back to the planet. It cries as the creatures upon it pluck at it like needles. Tortured. A pained sense of similarity he finds in the planet's suffering. One he had already suffered himself. Fuck that planet, he would not be fed to the meat grinder once again.
With a sick taste on his tongue Anakin returned to see the normal-eyed man grumpily cleaning away whispering curses as he went.
Wordlessly Anakin picked up a nearby rag to help him. A task that seemed obvious to him, though, Cin had told him off many times for doing jobs that weren't assigned to him. Still, Anakin couldn't deny what he was any more than he could deny that the couch cushion was ruined.
Though Anakin couldn't help that dread creeping up on him. Even through the thick walls of the ship he could feel them. They are so hungry, ravenous.
"Can you stop shaking?" The normal cut cut growled, noticing his trembling hand.
"Sorry." He gave a meek whisperer, his mind not really in the conversation. It belonged to the planet now. "Did I do something wrong?"
"Recently? You burnt my fish, you smell like shit, your Rim accent frustrates me, um? You're face." The normal-eyed man listed off counting all of his sins on his fingers.
"Is that why you are sending me to that planet?
"The planet? Coruscant?" The confusion etched on his face was apparent. That confusion quickly faded before he started to laugh.
"I suppose it is a punishment in some way, a punishment for being born." The normal-eyed man lamented. "All of us by the time we turn eighteen have to be enrolled into the Inquisitorius."
"Us?"
"Force sensitive." He waved his hand, flicking wine with his rag, "Magic people."
"Why?"
"Because someone stronger than us told us to. Same reason why I'm doing this." There is a bitterness in his voice and truth in his anger.
"How did you live down there?"
"Me? I slept with a fourth year who found me cute in my first year. I got beaten the shit out of me by my peers who was jealous of me selling my body for protection. In my second year I joined the largest group I could, thinking there was safety in numbers. We were betrayed from someone who sold us all for a spot in a better group. He put sleeping gas in our rooms and gave some bullshit reason like he had to take a shit. By the time we sensed danger we had classmates with lightsabers waiting outside for us. I chose the smarter option of the gas and by the time I cut myself through the floor, I was getting chased out of the Inquisitorius by a bunch of kids who wanted to kill me. This ain't even real."
He gripped the skin of his arm and rip. Layers of authentic skin tore off revealing the metal plates and wires.
"Bitten by a Rakghoul during my little vacation, feral little fuckers. Without any anti-virus I had no choice but to cut it off." His voice swelled with pride, like it was a proud battle scar.
Still Anakin didn't notice the sideward glances he gave at his arm. Anakin had never known someone proud of their prosthetics to wear synthetic skin.
"Starving, sleep-deprived and asymmetrical." He laughed at his own joke. "I returned to the Inquisitorius, ready to be killed by the very people I ran away from. I met them back in the criteria and you know what happened."
"You killed them?" Considering that he was alive it seemed like the obvious conclusion to Anakin.
"They forgot me. Bastards didn't care enough to remember the one that got away. I didn't even get to get revenge on the bitch who betrayed us as I found out later he was killed by the very same group that he betrayed us for. Can't trust a rat afterall."
Anakin could relate to that. No matter how much the rats plucked from Anakin's skin they always wanted more. Couldn't trust a rat not to eat you just cause you gave it some bread.
"You have to survive down there for two years?"
"Four," Fuck. "The second two years you spend a good amount of your time off planet. Only to return occasionally to test your metal and make sure you ain't gone soft."
"That must have been nice to go off the planet."
"To some it was. They died when they returned, softened up too much. My third year I applied to Naboo for my service. Seeking the same life of luxury that many of my tired peers desired and died because of. Instead I met Drallig. One morning I was enjoying a nice nap sleeping off a hangover, the next I was on Felucia without my saber nor any supplies. The only thing I had was the clothes on my back and a gps. Cin told me that my reliance on others made me weak, an embarrassment in the eyes of the Empire. If Coruscant is a man made hell then Felucia is a natural one. Everything is either poisonous or venomous or a combination of the two. The sarlacc pits were so large that they ate rancors whole and the largest of the bastards had a literal city built between the teeth and gums."
Anakin had seen sarlaccs before, they also belonged to Tatooine and were large creatures which hid beneath the surface eating anything unfortunate enough to wander a little too close. Yet nothing existed on Tatooine as large as he apparently believed, Anakin honestly didn't believe him. No planet could have something so awful, but the again, he could feel such creatures from the planet nearby.
"How did you survive?"
"I thought Cin's lesson for me was to survive by myself. No, had I done that I would have surely died. I knew nothing of the planet and flesh eating bacteria claimed my right leg for my ignorance." He tapped his right calf, the familiar rung of metal coming from under the synthetic skin.
I was found by a tribe who showed more kindness than anyone I had ever met in the Inquisitorius. They taught me what food I could eat, what areas to avoid and when I told them of the gps they showed me the way. I found Cin waiting for me. If he was shocked about the small army I had picked up, he didn't show it. I had lost a leg on the planet, but I had the Force. To the primitive tribes I was a God, the legless one was what they called me. Over the weeks of travel I had amassed a powerful Guerrilla force." There was a small smile on his lips, and some manner of pity in his eyes.
"You should have seen him, Drallig. Surrounded, only a ship to his back, lightsaber not even drawn. You know what he asked me?" I shook my head, strangely more enthralled in this story then I had any right to be.
"'What have you learnt'?" He laughed.
"I came ready to kill him, and he asked what I had learnt. I actually had a speech prepared, one about vengeance, hate, revolution, about forsaking the Inquisition to become a one legged God. For weeks I spent with those tribes, it took a whole three seconds with Drallig for me to make up my mind and join him upon the ship. He didn't say anything as I walked over to the turbo lasers and fired down on the planet. When I finally returned I sat down next to him and said all I had learnt was that an all fruit diet gives you the shits."
Anakin was haunted. Such a cruel telling of his story felt like something out of a sick-man's mind. A story of a man used by everyone becoming a slaver, executioner.
"At least we have some protection. Those Turbolasers are somewhat comforting." Anakin remarked, eager to change the conversation to something less… frightening.
"The Turbolasers? You find those comforting?" The normal-eyed man looked genuinely puzzled at him. As if the concept of having big massive guns protecting them was somehow a foreign thought.
"Stange, those things always kept me up my first few nights. I was terrified that some idiot would say something or try to do something against the Inquisitorius and we would all end up as ash."
"Why would they do that?" It was his turn to be puzzled now.
"Ha! What did you expect? You put a bunch of murder-hungry force-sensitive kids into a death match between each other you better point a lot of very big guns at them."
Oh, that's why they didn't have planetary shields. It wasn't to kill any of those horrid monsters Anakin could sense, no, they didn't exist to protect him. It was the same reason his old Master kept guards, not to protect his property, but rather to keep the slaves in line. To glass the planet at the first hint of rebellion.
A/N:
Eclipse-eyed man: Cin D = Jedi lightsaber instructor in Star wars
Normal eyed man - just a random inquisitor who served the role as someone to keep dialogue moving
This story is set in an alternative universe with the Sith winning 200 years ago which will be explained later.
This idea I've been playing around with quite a bit
My biggest changes will be ages. The Inquisitorius is only 4 years. Therefore if I wanna include characters who are like 20 years older than Anakin in the school I'm going to have to age them down a substantial amount.
Also I always thought it was lightsabre, like the sword. But instead it's saber, which is okay I guess. This time I really want to work more on correct punctuation and grammar.
Take a shot everytime I describe someone's eyes (don't).
Next chapter is 40% done and at 5000 words already. Both of these were suppose to be ~4000 words but considering this chapter alone is ~11500 words. It's clear things didn't go as planned.