Calm down. You'll be fine. Calm down. You'll be fine. Calm down. You'll be fine.
Cal has this mantra looping in his head as the Purge Troopers march him down an unfamiliar corridor of the base—like that's going to help in the slightest. He's in trouble with Lord Vader, for Force's sake. No one ever faces Judgement Day head-on thinking they're fine.
The Purge Troopers eventually stop in front of a tall, wide door at Vader's command. The doors open automatically, revealing yet another one of the bases' wide and dark rooms. There's another interrogation chair inside. Seriously. Does the Empire have no shortage of dark, threatening torture rooms?
"What is this about?" Cal asks pathetically as the Purge Troopers shove him inside after Vader. "Are we going to have a little chat? Over breakfast, maybe? I'm starv—"
"You may think yourself courageous," Vader cuts in, holding up a hand. "But your senseless blithering only reveals to me how deep your fear runs."
The Purge Troopers haul him over to the interrogation chair. It's a familiar feeling at this point, getting strapped into the cold metal chair. Really, he might as well live in one at this point, seeing as the Empire loves using it on him so much.
But Cal can't shake the feeling this will be different from all the other times. And not just because Vader is here instead of Trilla: Trilla knows limits. She understands mercy. Not this monster.
Calm down. You'll be fine.
Vader steps in front of him, observing him coolly through his dark helmet lenses. There is no warmth, no sympathy, to be found in the Dark Lord's gaze. From behind him, the blast doors open again, revealing a hovering orb of a droid. Similar to a probe droid, but something about its red lens and the various tools hanging from it tells Cal it has a different purpose. One of the twisted, torturous sort.
He swallows. He glances at Vader as the droid drifts close to hover next to him.
"You must be familiar with the IT-O interrogator," Vader begins.
An IT-O interrogator? This is when Cal starts to panic for real. Kriff. Kriffing kriff. He's heard of the IT-O, but this is what it is? A harmless-looking ball?
He knows about these IT-O units—well, namely, its reputation for breaking people. Breaking them so thoroughly that there is nothing left but fear and anguish, allowing the tormentor to fill their victim's minds with whatever they want. Compared to an interrogation chair, the IT-O makes a session of torture look like a relaxing massage.
Force, he's in real trouble this time. Real and deep trouble.
Cal yanks his arms hard against the restraints. Whatever bantha crap about staying calm is long forgotten: he's right back to wanting—no, needing, to RUN. He needs to run. Get the hell out of here, no matter what it takes.
But the restraints don't budge: they dig into his arms, making him grimace in pain. Hell, who is he kidding? He's in no position to run. Not with Vader right here, in front of him.
Breaths start to come oddly, panic filling his lungs and every inch in his body. Vader tilts his head, observing him. "Yes, I believe you are," The Sith lord muses. "Then it requires no introduction." He waves the droid closer. Out comes a single syringe and needle filled with white liquid.
"What do you want from me?" Cal asks, a little desperately, as the needle comes closer and closer. "I've done everything you guys asked."
"Everything but your loyalty, it would seem," Vader counters. "Your defeatist act may have fooled the Inquisitors, but not me." He leans close, his hollow, robotic breaths more menacing than ever. "I am aware of more than you know, Cal Kestis."
YOU ARE READING
Careful with that thing; it's been though hell
Fanfiction"Just give in," A cruel voice murmurs in his ear. "You were always weak. What's one more failure to you?" But he can't. He won't. He's Cal Kestis, Jedi Commander of the 13th Battalion. Jaro Tapal's Padawan. And he will keep fighting-even if it kills...
