Star Wars: The Hidden Shadow

Chapter 3 - Prison Break

Two days— Rayshk counted in his head – two days since I got stuck in this shithole.

His eyes fluttered groggily, vision bleary as he struggled to look over his small, apportioned holding cell. The latest sedatives they dosed him with left him disoriented, left him with the inability to fully access his own mind, let alone the Force itself. But thankfully through the Force, the effects of the drugs started to negate.

He currently lived in a claustraophobic's worst nightmare. It was him, a steel table, and two chairs crammed in a narrow rectangular room. No room to pace, no room to actually breathe, this place could luckily squeeze three bodies in at a time. Did they put him in there to feel intimidated? See if they could weasel out whatever information he had? Make him feel as if the world was closing in? Whatever method they used, they were far from breaking him.

And what separated him from the rest of the world was the transparent energy field that buzzed endlessly, unless powered down. Pros and cons, he mused, for containment fields. The cons being that it barred him from escape, and the pros being that he could see who came to visit; his holding cell had the view of the turbolift.

Lucky for him, today he had visitors (his regulars since he first arrived).

The turbolift door revolved open and his two stoic visitors stepped off into the hallway, taking their sweet time approaching his cell. By the time they reached him, he already saw that they were wearing the exact clothes as yesterday. He chortled inwardly, and wondered if they only had one outfit they wore every single day.

His visitors eyed him wearily, as if uncertain whether to step inside. Rayshk lifted his bound wrists and waved zealously, a feeble smirk cracking across his face as he met their gaze. "Ah," his voice dragged, throat as moist as a desert, "my two favorite Jedi! Is this an actual visit? Or more questions?"

The Jedi – a master and a Togruta Padawan – didn't reply. Instead, they only exchanged glances before they finally powered down the energy field. The master, a tall gentleman with fair-hair and beard, took the empty chair in front of Rayshk. His cool blue eyes stared at the prisoner – compassion and humility clear in their depths – and studied him.

"Glad to see you're awake," the master said. "And you're in a talkative mood—"

"Do you wear the same fucking outfit every day?"

"Hey!" the Padawan snapped, perhaps out of turn. "We're asking the questions—"

"Ahsoka," the master sighed. He glanced over his shoulder at her, as if giving a silent warning, and returned his attention to Rayshk. "Since you're so curious about me, I'll humor you—" he leaned forward "—no, I don't wear the same robes every day. Now, I answered your question, so will you answer mine?"

"Answers," Rayshk scoffed, "is something you'll never get out of me. Unless...you're asking the right questions—" he ended abruptly, quirking an eyebrow and leering toward the Padawan who was identified as, "Ahsoka," and watched her scoff and look away in disgust.

In that time, the Jedi master had placed something on the table with a soft thud.

Rayshk's eyes immediately dropped down to his lightsaber hilt and he smiled. "You're asking what this is?" he chortled. "Well, that's a lightsaber, sir. You have one too—"

"Where did you get it?"

"Pfft. I didn't 'get it' anywhere."

"Are you saying you made it?"