Star Wars rebels Abducted

Chapter 15: Flare of Hope

Ezra massaged his now thoroughly sore throat.

It hadn't been fun, these last few weeks. Had he been here weeks? Or had his sense of time gone completely out of wack? Ezra couldn't tell anymore.

Each 'morning,' Ezra had either been awake for or awoken by the same torture bot as before; he had taken to dubbing it 'Chip,' inspired by his most favorite astromech in the galaxy. He could tell it was the same because, during one 'session,' he had lashed out against the robot and kicked it. While it did nothing to stop Chip from continuing it's mission, it had created a small dent in the otherwise smooth shell of metal. The droid that had been repeatedly coming in always had the same dent, so Ezra had simply assumed that they sent in Chip every time instead of rotating between multiple droids.

Usually, the droids were supposed to systematically break down an Imperial prisoner. While it was no picnic being in the vicinity of one, Ezra wasn't that intimidated by it. Sure, it hurt like hell, but nothing could touch Ezra's bubble of hope. Well, nothing except his own doubts. But those he could keep at bay. For now, at least.

But as for right now, the reason why Ezra was feeling uncomfortable- more so than usual- was because in the middle of Chip's morning sessions, the almost-always administered Force-inhibitor had worn off. Ezra had begun to think that that was an impossibility, but he guessed that the Empire could make mistakes as well.

He had used that one, pure moment of connection to reach out for Kanan, to let him know where he was, so that he could finally get out of this place, but he had no idea if it had worked or not. Ezra had never been that good at long-distance Force sensing even while meditating. In that seemingly instant moment where he had full access to the Force, he had been under torture. He had absolutely no idea if he had even reached out to Kanan or not.

Now, Ezra could've kicked himself for not doing the sensible thing and forcing Chip away from him so that he actually could focus.

Well, even if he had, Ezra doubted that he would've been able to accomplish anything other than what he had done. Seemingly instantaneously, the Inquisitor had rushed into Ezra's cell, a look of fury on his face. He'd enjoyed frustrating the Pau'an to no end, but the Inquisitor had made it quite clear that he did not.

Chip had been sent away early, and instead the Inquisitor had personally saw to Ezra's punishment. He had not been gentle. While Chip was blades and injections, the Pau'an was mind-attacks and lightsaber burns. The Force-choking didn't help either.

It had taken all of Ezra's strength to maintain the barriers that Kanan had painstakingly taught him to raise. He knew that if he didn't while under direct assault, he would become the Inquisitor's faster than you could say 'Jedi.' It hadn't been easy.

Now, to go along with his numerous cuts and bruises, Ezra had a few shiny burns on his sides. They hurt like the devil when he shifted his position, and he had a feeling that they would linger for far longer than the other mundane injuries.

Luckily, his left arm had been spared.

His throat, however, was a different matter. Not only had it's only uses been to shout itself hoarse from pain and insulting a particular Pau'an, it had been nearly crushed by said Baldy. When Kanan and the others got him out of here, it would need some serious rest. He knew that a certain Lasat would take only too kindly to this.

In his current situation it was bringing respite only to the Inquisitor, and perhaps Chip. Baldy no longer had to deal with continuous insults and rejections, only stares of death that Ezra managed to conjure every time he walked in with his offer. Chip, meanwhile, had the satisfaction of knowing his talents were yielding even better results than before, as now he didn't even have to do anything specifically to his throat to make it burn and crack.