Star Wars: Spirit of Survival #Watty's2017

Chapter Three-Breaking

Aboard the Ravage, 

18 years BBY

The brig was cold and dark, and Spirit had to admit that he didn't like it much, but at least there was no one in there kicking or beating him. Of course, there would be if he moved, so he did his best to keep perfectly still.

In the hours that he had been sitting there for, he's come to a final conclusion that fighting would bring him only pain and that his master was right. He might have been a soldier once, but he was always a slave, and he always would be. He wasn't human enough to be his own master, nor was he strong enough, as his master had recently taught him. Spirit tried not to wince at the thought of his broken ribs and the burns that now decorated his face. He just put his head down, his hair falling in his eyes. He glanced at the dark strands which were usually oily and greasy. He'd showered before he got here, but only because he was forced too, and he felt that he probably needed a haircut too, but he knew that his master would never let him near a knife or razor. He sighed quietly but said nothing aloud.

A few moments later the door slid open again and Spirit had to force himself not to look up as a man's heavy boots echoed across the floor. A small crack of light flooded the dark area and Spirit squinted some. Then he felt a rough hand grab his arm and haul him onto his feet. He started to sway a little but quickly stiffened, keeping his head down silently.

"Move," a dark voice ordered. It was Folter. 

Spirit did as it ordered, however, and he limped quietly towards the door. He felt a heavy boot connect with his knee, though, and cried out, dropping down.

"Stop limping and move!" Folter yelled. Spirit nodded quickly and dragged himself up as quickly as he could, putting equal weight on both feet, silently bearing the pain that shot through his left leg with ever step. He made it to the door, thought, and was able to pause there for a short moment. He took a deep breath and waited for the expected shout to move again. When it came he moved forward again, feeling Folter's hand soon rest heavily on his shoulder, jerking him in each direction he was to go. Spirit wanted to whine with pain, but he called on every trick he'd learned as a soldier to fight it off and keep silent as they marched down to the hall towards a common room. 

When they entered Spirit chanced a tiny look up. He could see the other from before, Master Riek, Bose, and he knew Folter was behind him. There was a lady but she was dressed as a paid individual, probably a cook or maybe a hired pilot. Riek rose from his seat first, stalking over to Spirit, who quickly averted his eyes to the floor.

"Folter," Riek said, "I want you to show our new slave to his quarters. There's another waiting there for you."

Spirit heard Folter shift and the man's grip on his shoulder loosened a little bit. "Another for me, father?"

"Yes," Riek said. "That one you can keep, this one I will keep until you need him," he added. Spirit bit his lower lip, unsure which he should fear more. Folter was obviously rough and mean, but Master Riek was worse, from all Spirit had seen. He said nothing, though, knowing he didn't get to decide. 

"Thank you, father," Folter said and his grip tightened again as he turned Spirit back to the door. Spirit went willingly, just wanting to get away from the trio of cruelty. 

They walked silently down the halls, Folter's heavy steps echoing Spirit's, and they soon arrived in a small room. It didn't have bunks or bed, but a few cots spread sparsely on the ground, most of which were occupied by other men, obviously slaves as well.