𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 - 𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐤𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐬

𝐎𝐍𝐄 ⸺ 𝐟𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞.

0102 local hours. Year 7963 (14 BBY).
Crimson Station, Sullust.

⚡︎ ⁺. ◍ 。

𝓗ER OWN SCREAMS still echoed to Væmas' ears as she was being dragged back in her cell by two red-armored stormtroopers, pain irradiating so violently in her whole body that she was unable if only to think. Eyes half closed, she helplessly stared at the polished black floor before her, so bright that she could even see her own exhausted, broken reflection in it.

The military pace of the guards suddenly stopped as they brutally pushed her in her cell, her back rolling down the stairs and on the ground, and the door automatically closing behind them, leaving Væmas with the dark, the pain and the cold for sole company.

After a few minutes of lying still, freezing in her simple sleeveless black prisoner suit, her limbs refusing to make the tiniest move, Væmas gathered the bits of strength she had left and tried to pull herself of the ground, gritting her teeth in the effort. This sequence had been longer than the other, and so longer lasted the pain. She managed to crawl for a few seconds, then her arms refused to respond again, leaving her to crumble again to the floor with a muted cry.

Come on, Væmas. She scolded herself, forcing her eyes to focus on the here and now. You know what will happen if you don't get water soon. Get up.

Taking a long, deep breath, Væmas relaxed her whole body and calmed her mind after turning to lie on her back, closing her eyes for a moment. Like always, the galaxy appeared in her mind, a ribbon of light dancing around her. Mentally opening her arms, she let the Force gather in her heart and gently directed it to the painful area, her head, which felt like if it had been used as an anvil.

When she opened her eyes again, the paint had regressed enough to allow her, with some effort, to reach the lavatory and the oh-so-desired water, that she swallowed like she hadn't had any in hours — which was the case.

Feeling a little better after hydrating herself, Væmas crawled to the small bench she used as bed, now used to its roughness. After a session like this one, she knew she had at least a few hours before the guards come back to check if she was still...well, alive.

With that dark-humored thought creating a bitter smile on her lips, Væmas soon fell into and agitated sleep.

***

The alarm went suddenly off in the building, instantly waking Væmas up, soon followed by the sound of stormtroopers boots in the corridors. Væmas' weak Force Healing gift made the poor job it still could after months of deprivation: she was feeling a little bit better even though still rusty. Getting off her bed — if it could even be called so — she tried to get up and stretch slowly as she could, but soon as she got up, a wave of pain irradiated her head, black spots dancing in front of her eyes and making her sit back down, her head pounding, the alarm and the rush of the stormtroopers certainly not helping.

It was not the first time that this situation happened. A few pilots coming a little too close to the facility, soon chased away by TIE fighters. The remaining fighters — if they even were — still struggling to bring back the Republic had no interest in gaining Sullust back; why would they? Except Crimson Station, the planet was abandoned, only left with former magma mining sites from the Old Republic. And besides, no one was aware of the capture of Væmas. No one would come for her. After nine months spent here, this lesson had been learned the hard way.

She sat on the bench, legs crossed, and let her mind wander behind the cell door. As always, it was stopped by an electric field, preventing her mind to see outside. Beside the one room she was dragged into every day, Væmas knew nothing of the facility she was in.