Star Wars rebels Abducted

Chapter 10: Soul Tremors

Disclaimer: I don't own Rebels. Whoever's in charge of Disney does.

Ezra growled softly as he pressed his hand against his injured arm. It was the same...darn...arm...

First shot, then ripped, then stabbed, and now mangled. What else are they gonna do to it, cut it off?

Although, the way things were going, the bucket-heads might do just that.

After his disastrous escape attempt, Ezra had woken up in a different cell with a pounding headache. Not to mention arm pain. Why the Inquisitor had to go for that specific arm was a mystery, but it had hurt like hell when Ezra'd first woken up. Of course, soon after that, they'd sent in the little torture bot.

Ezra had seen one of them before; seen it in action while rescuing a fugitive with the Ghost. But he'd never been on the receiving end of their countless appendages, each bearing some new form of pain. He was no stranger to pain, but all the same... that hadn't been pleasant. Now Ezra had some new scars and scabs to add to his collection of bruises from the ventilation shafts.

How long the droid had been in there, Ezra hadn't known. But when it'd left, oblivious to the small blood spatters on it's front, the thought had occurred to Ezra that it was odd no one had asked him any questions. Well, except for the Inquisitor in the beginning, of course. But that question would always receive the same answer. There was absolutely no way Ezra was going to join the Pau'an in his gambits.

Ezra frowned down at his left arm, still annoyed that it was the one the Imps seemed to like beating up the most. As well as the droid choosing to inject all of it's separate serums into that one vein, a small blade had cut into the flesh repeatedly, going close enough to the important arteries of his circulation system to make Ezra scared.

It hadn't actually done anything life-threatening, and Ezra had to admire the skill the droid had been programmed with to do so. It had gone very- very-close to his major necessities. Other than that, though, the procedures it had executed hardly fell above brutal. Electric shocks. Injections that made his blood burn like fire. Cuts along his appendages that were not major, but stung and hurt in the ways that only the little droid could make them.

He wasn't proud of it, but after the droid had left, Ezra had passed out on the floor, in a pool of his own blood. Definitely not good for his jumpsuit. He'd only woken up now, and began to tend to his injuries the best way that he could with the limited materials. Completely detaching a torn piece of fabric, Ezra pressed the cloth to a gash on his side. It was just about as serious as the other injuries, but he figured it was the one that impeded his movement most, and needed to be looked at first. Cuts on his legs: he could deal with those. They weren't unfamiliar to Ezra.

Of course, most of his cuts had already healed. They weren't, after all, major, and after whatever mount of time he'd been asleep, the smaller ones had healed. To his knowledge, the only cuts that were still bleeding freely were the side gash he was tending now, and cuts on his right calf, bicep, forehead, chest, and, of course, his arm. His blasted arm.

Ezra sighed. If he didn't have faith in his crew, the teen probably would've just given into whatever demands they asked of him... except for the single offer the Inquisitor had made for Ezra to join him in 'the Dark side.' Even if Ezra hadn't known he was a Force user, he'd still say no to the creep... There was just something about him that screamed out 'evil.' Ezra was no goody goody like the Kenobi or Yoda Kanan had spoken to him about, but there was no way that anything the Pau'an could offer Ezra would ever sound appealing.

Applying pressure to the gash still, Ezra stirred from the bloody corner of the room. The droid had plaid a low card, injecting Ezra with a paralysis before administering him with any of the 'treatments,' to ensure that no harm could befall the small droid that so resembled Chopper. Although, there wasn't much that the teen could've done, to be honest. Not with the creepy Baldy standing in the opposite corner of the room, watching him.