Careful with that thing; it's been though hell

VIII - Madness

Cal tries to feel his way around the room, putting his hands up in front of him. His eyes strain as they scan the abyss, searching for light, but there's nothing. Even deep space, as barren as it is, has stars. Not this place.

He knows this is just a part of Trilla's continued scheme. It's ridiculous, of course: he is not afraid of the dark. He shouldn't be, not when there's a whole galaxy out there full of things to be wary of.

As if in response to this, his mind wanders back to his encounter with Vader. Cal can't help but swallow a nervous lump in his throat. He tries to direct his thoughts elsewhere, anywhere, but the memory of Vader's deep, mechanical breaths fight back and then he's back in the dojo again, taken down by his former ally, the Force. Vader stands before him, unnaturally tall, the red point of his saber at his throat again. He's completely at the Sith Lord's mercy.

Cal shivers. How can he fight back against someone like that?

He knows what Master Tapal would say to that. He'd remind him to have faith in his abilities. And when he was a youngling, Master Yoda would explain to him how fear lead to the dark side. Cal doesn't need to picture him to repeat the words now: Fear is a path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.

He eventually finds his way to the bed when his foot hits the metal frame. It's silent in the room, so silent that each step sounds like a blaster going off. It's designed this way, most likely, but the knowledge of this doesn't make the silence any easier to stomach. He'd almost prefer to hear scrap rats.

You'll be here until you decide to reevaluate your decisions, Trilla reminds him.

Cal clenches his fists. If she thinks he's going to break just from silence and darkness alone, she's got another thing coming. Besides, the longer she leaves him here, the more likely his friends and family will remain safe. Right?

Right? He waits to hear input from Master Tapal or even Prauf, but the only answer he gets is his own ragged breathing and the steady thump of his heart.

Cal tries reaching out next. It's easy at first: a picture of the room quickly takes shape in the dark. There's a narrow slot by the doors for air to come through, but it's too small to be even considered a vent. The walls and floors are made up of the same durasteel material as the cell, meaning it's practically unbreakable without explosives or a few Jedi to help him.

And that's it. When Cal tries to reach out beyond the confines of the room, he finds that he can't. There's no explanation for it, either: he doesn't even have the shock collar on anymore. He chalks it up to the general energy in the room and settles down to meditate.

— —

He soon finds there's only so long he can meditate. He's human, after all, and the hunger and exhaustion chip away at his resolve bit by bit. Cal refuses to acknowledge it. This is nothing compared to the interrogation chair.

(Almost too much nothing.)

— —

It's a few more hours—days? No, hours, definitely—before a small flap he hadn't noticed before opens by the blast doors. A sliver of light and a gloved hand comes through it, balancing a tray. But before he can get to its owner the hand lets go, dropping the tray on the floor and sending a loud, metallic clang! through the room. Then it disappears, taking the light with it.

He feels his way over to the door on all fours. A bit undignified, but who's watching? (Not Trilla, hopefully, but Cal can't really find it in him to care anyway.) When his fingers brush the tray he pulls it close, then closes his hand around whatever they've brought him.