Missing and Presumed Dead

A Race of Life and Death

When Luke opened his eyes, his vision was out of focus and a constant ringing filled his ears. He could hear his own breathing loud and clear, but the voices around him were distorted. For too long, he tried to make sense of what was happening--where was up and down? What position was he in?

Where was he?

He squeezed his eyes shut, releasing a groan. A split second later, a sharp pain reverberated at the top of his head, and his head was yanked up. A mustached man was right in his face, snarling something. Splittle flew from his mouth to hit his skin.

"Personal...space..." he gasped.

That earned him a swift punch to the face, and pain exploded through his jaw as his head whipped to the side, then dropped back to his chest. Coppery fluid-- blood-- filled his mouth, and he gagged, causing it to dribble out of his mouth and towards the floor.

Upright. He was upright.

And apparently, he'd pissed someone off.

Again.

The man was talking. He spat out more blood, trying to determine what he'd lost, why he was there with...with...

His arms were up. Chained up, reaching towards the ceiling.

And the feeling was coming back into his limbs far too quickly. He was suddenly aware of screeching pain tearing through his shoulders, but most especially through his left--

"I said," the man hissed, and Luke hardly had time to marvel that he could finally understand before something pressed into his bruised ribs. He gasped, gagged again on blood --tongue, he'd bitten his tongue-- and coughed it out. "What is your name, little Jedi?"

Jedi. Mustache. Pirates. He was starting to remember, though everything was still a haze of agony...

"Black Sun," he managed. "You're...I know you."

A harsh laugh, and his head was being yanked up again by the hair. Tears sprang unwillingly to his eyes. "What, did you get brain damage in that crash?"

Crash. Right. That's why he was injured. His father was coming for him. Leia was coming for him. Where were they? He tried to remember the last conversation he had with them...

Come home, Luke.

"I thought you were dead," the man snarled, his face so close to Luke's that he could smell the rot in his breath. "If me and my crew had stayed aboard, maybe I'd be dead, too."

That's right. There'd been bodies. Charred bodies at the crash site.

"I figure, if they're dead, you're dead. Then one day some little girl comes lookin for you. And if she's lookin, then maybe you aren't dead. So I come back with my crew. Turns out we already got a base with resources, and we start searchin. Then you hand yourself over."

He was starting to remember the sound of the speeder, then the hunter, then...

He'd been stunned. This pirate had stunned him. And now he was hanging in...in some makeshift prison that looked more like a storage room...

"So. What. Is. Your. Name?"

"I already told your man," Luke spat. "Lars."

The man let go of his hair, and again Luke's head fell forward. "See, after the stunt you pulled, I find it difficult to believe anything you say."

"Then why bother asking?" The bleeding in his mouth seemed to be slowing down. At least, when he spat, there didn't seem to be as much blood.

"Because you're awfully familiar, Jedi."