It was dark and wet.
Cold.
The hard metal he sat on made his old joints ache. There wasn’t much room to move, not nearly enough for him to stretch out. It was uncomfortable, smelled entirely too sterile, and made him claustrophobic. He wished he could tell how long it had been. There was no light for him to guess at how many days gone by, no timepieces, no mentions from any of the guards.
Mostly because there were no guards. He only saw others when they came to take him away, to that room...
Goosebumps dotted up his spine at the thought. It hadn’t been long enough since the last time they’d taken him there. While he did his best to slip into meditation and let the pain of their torture wash over him, it didn’t always work. They always managed to bring him back.
The worst torture of all was knowing how close Anakin was. How close he’d been to seeing him again, to helping him and taking him away from this place, back to his children where he belonged. He probably didn’t even know that he was here. Likely, he had no idea, severely doubting that Palpatine had uttered a word to him. Otherwise he was certain he would have come to see him. Even if it was only to tell him how much he hated him.
In retrospect, coming back hadn’t been the best of ideas, but he told himself before that he would wait five years. Within that time, he was certain that Anakin would come to his senses, and he was distressed by just how wrong he had been. Rather than come to the realization that what he was doing was wrong, that the emperor was utter evil, he had simply relaxed into his position. Embraced it fully. Vader had consumed Anakin and his remaining humanity.
The only thing -- things -- capable of restoring him to his real self, were light-years away, separated. They had no idea what had happened to him, or what was going on. Who their father was.
Except Leia. He’d never explicitly mentioned it, but he could tell that she knew. She was far too smart for her own good, and campaigning for Queenship at an extraordinarily young age. The youngest in Naboo’s history by several years. He had known she was a prodigy from when she was still tiny, but this had surprised him greatly. Especially because of how different Luke’s life was going.
His brother Owen had taken the boy in and was raising him out in their country home, with three older male cousins. It was a good life for him; he wanted for nothing, there were many trips, he was learning to be an outdoorsman and enjoyed sports and was learning the manners of a high-born boy on Stewjon.
While their lives were going so well, it wasn’t what they were meant to be doing. They didn’t belong in either of those places.
Obi-Wan wished that Anakin and Padme somehow could have worked things out on Coruscant. That he’d been there when they were born. That they could have been raised by both of them, but still receive Temple training. A ridiculous thought, he knew it was a dream, but it would have been so perfect. To him, anyway. He knew in his heart that his dear friend would not have wanted that sort of life for her children.
Which was precisely why he hid them to begin with. But that wasn’t something he wanted to think on, now.
He had to find a way to escape. He was curious as to why they hadn’t killed him outright; there had to be an ulterior motive to it. A plan for him. But, he couldn’t fathom what they could possibly have in mind for him. What use was he? They had access to the holocrons and thousands of years of Jedi history and knowledge. Anakin hated him for taking his children away, refusing to believe it was for their own protection. There was zero use for him.
So why was he still breathing?
When they came for him again, he went silently as he always did. He walked along, noting what passages were near, how heavily they were guarded, if at all. He scanned the minds of the clo-- storm troopers, and felt nothing from them, as if their programming had been intensified, barely more than mindless slaves. They must have been from new batches. The one he’d worked with not so long ago had been their own people, orders aside. Vaguely, he wondered what happened to them all... he knew that Cody had followed Order 66, but Rex?
Somehow he knew that Rex would resist and never go through with such a thing. But that meant he likely went down with the rest of the Jedi.
The chamber he was led to was always the same. It was no bigger than 15x15, though it was difficult to tell in the darkness. The only light illuminated the standing table they shackled him to. He knew this game; lights, bright, to disorient and make it difficult to see out into the shadows that surrounded him.
When the electrorods were held against his body, he hissed, clenching his teeth. Typically, they started with something harsh from the get-go, but not quite so bad. Closing his eyes, he exhaled deeply and retreated mentally as he always did. The pain lessened, but not nearly enough. As he felt a hot blade cut into his skin, however, he was forced back to reality. This was a new tactic, and one he hadn’t at all been prepared for.
Shouting, his body contorted, as he instinctively tried to get away from the searing pain of near-molten iron. It was difficult to control himself and calm down, hands clenching into fists as he did his best to breathe through it, pressing his back against the table. When he glanced down, he saw a small mark, only three inches long... but it had hurt far worse than that. The next time they did it, he managed only a small scream before he was able to close his mouth, jaw clenched so tightly he thought it might break off.
His strength was quickly leaving him, making him wonder if that blade was laced with something... as they suddenly unshackled him to turn him around, face pressed against the metal of the table, he couldn’t muster the will to fight them. They prodded at him with the electrorods again, in short, quick, frustrating bursts. Realizing in the back of his mind that his hands were free, that they hadn’t bound him again, he took a breath and lifted a hand, willing the Force to shove them both back into the wall.
Both bodies hit with a resound thud, and they slid to the ground. Taking a deep breath, feeling a small glimmer of hope in him, he ran to the door and started pulling on it, then pushing, pounding, trying desperately to get it open, when he felt one of those rods jam into the base of his spine, where he let out a scream and fell to his knees. The two troopers had just been playing possum, it seemed, as they were both up, jabbing him with their poles.
The next several minutes were a painful blur as they continued to shock him, then moved in to grab him by the hair and pull him to his feet, their fists cracking his ribs, legs sweeping his out from under him, but they held their grip on his hair, never letting him actually fall. He could swear he felt patches of his hair being ripped out, felt blood trickling from his scalp. He was kicked away, body slamming into the wall with a crack, and he slowly slid down to the floor where he stayed, stunned.
He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but when he finally found the strength to tip his head up, the troopers were gone, and someone wholly different had taken their place.
Obi-Wan hadn’t seen that twisted, melted face in person before now. It was a terrible sight. His beady yellow eyes and twisted pink grin were especially horrifying.
“Ah, look at what they’ve done to you. I told them you were my honored guest... and this is how they treat you?” A clammy hand reached out, fingertips brushing over his stubbly cheek. He turned his head away sharply, wincing as he did so. He was sore from their ‘treatment’.
“Do not shy away from me, Master Kenobi. I am your friend. Probably your only one, now that Lord Vader wants you dead... and oh, he does.” The slimy tone of his voice, the barely veiled glee was disgusting. Even moreso was the thought of them being friends, of all things.
Swallowing heavily, he managed in a rough voice, “We are not friends. I would never be a friend to you. You’re a shining example of the evil in the uni--” “Shhhh.” That chalk-white hand of his waved slightly over his face, and he blinked a few times, feeling disoriented, unable to continue. Everything was so blurry...
“Calm yourself. Save your strength. You’ll need it.”
Vaguely, he felt tugging then, and he thought that he was being dragged away from that room, but to where? He wasn’t sure. It all went dark only moments later.
When his eyes opened again, he was in a different room. Smaller than his cell. It was more like a closet, and he was leaning against the wall, unable to see even where the door was. At least before, he’d had bars on the door for a trickle of light to filter through. He didn’t think he’d ever miss the sight of a barred door, but there was a first time for everything, he supposed.
Attempting to stretch out, he was dismayed to find that he didn’t even have to room to spread his arms out at his sides. The cell seemed to only be three feet wide at best. He got up on shaky legs and reached upward, finding that the ceiling was merely inches above his head. Perhaps he really had been stuffed into a closet somewhere.
Hours passed, or maybe even days. No one came for him, he heard no voices, no footsteps. But, bit by bit, his cell seemed to be shrinking. When he managed to sleep, he would feel a jerking, and for some time wasn’t able to identify what was causing it. He wondered if this was how he was going to meet his end... crushed between steel walls in the darkness, all alone, without anyone having any idea. Not a great way to go, but there were still worse ways.
It got smaller and smaller, until he was cramped, limbs pressed together, body contorted. It was too narrow for him to even sit, forcing him to stand in an awkward position that made his bones ache and his muscles tight. They’d started something new that made him sick. Flashes of light, strobes, quick and bursting. The metal walls would heat up to just shy of burning his skin. He was so weak, disoriented, he’d gotten ill on himself several times. The smell just made him want to retch again, creating a horrible cycle. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten, but he had woken here and there to a glass of water at his feet that he could barely manage to lift.
It was just enough to keep him alive.
The strobes began happening with more frequency, they were unpredictable and the heat was maddening. He was sweating from every pore, then he would feel cool air, but it got progressively colder until he shivered and his sweat felt like it was turning to ice on his skin. He was certain that he was getting sick. Even when he was positive the temperature was as close to normal as the cell got, he felt so warm, but his hands were clammy. He’d developed a cough.
Maybe if he was lucky he’d die of a disease.
Finally, the day came where the walls closed in on him completely. He gasped for air as the steel threatened to crush his rib cage. When he wasn’t able to breathe any longer, it took mere seconds in his weakened state for him to lose consciousness, a part of him glad that this was all over.
Only it wasn’t.
When he woke again, he was back in his first cell, as if nothing else had happened. But he knew it had. He was still disgusting, covered in old vomit and his own soils. He was so tired, hungry, aching. And, he was incredibly frustrated. Everything began welling up inside of him; despair and loneliness, knowing that Anakin was so close. But also, fear... fear that this might just continue for years. That he would be trapped forever. He would never escape.
Anger. That he’d managed to get himself caught. That he was going through this for what? A man who hated him, who he’d loved and trusted and defended to his last breath to the council, only to be tossed aside for trying to save him those very same people? He’d tried so hard. He’d loved him so deeply. All he wanted was to keep him safe. His children safe. Their legacy intact, Padme’s good name unsullied.
He hated him, he realized suddenly.
He hated him, deep inside, for all of this. The child that he took care of for his Master, raised, trained to the best of his ability. He hadn’t been ready for such a responsibility, but he took it on anyway. He couldn’t have refused the request, and wouldn’t have, even if he could have. All he ever did was to help him, was in his best interest, and he threw away their friendship, their relationship, for a conniving old monster. A manipulative, melted beast, who did nothing but trick him into doing terrible things.
Into killing everyone. All of his friends, the people who had been his family for over ten years... the ones who had taken him in, shown him what it was to be a Jedi. The people who taught him to defend innocents and keep the peace.
And now, he suffered for it. Obi-Wan, the lone survivor. The one who remained the most loyal to the Republic and its virtues, but he was now heralded as one of its greatest traitors.
He couldn’t help himself.
That thought, the irony, filled him with such rage that he managed to get to his feet and he began beating the wall. His fists pounded it until his skin bruised and finally cracked, his knuckles were likely breaking, he kicked and flung himself against the hard surface, until something very surprising happened.
The door broke open.
He fell out of it, having been leaning against it at the time, and stared stupidly off to the side from where he landed, quite unsure of what to do. Blinking, his eyes slowly began to adjust to the light, having been in the darkness for so long. Slowly, he managed to push himself up onto shaky legs and he took a few hesitant steps forward. Where... where was he? He didn’t recognize this prison at all. This was a new place. Different than any other he had been.
There was only the one hallway, which led off toward several doors. Making his way to the first one, he pushed the button nearby for it to open and stood shock-still at what he saw before him: a large, luxurious bathroom, with a tub full of water, waiting. Unable to help himself, he immediately undressed and practically dove into it, hissing as the hot water and oils hit his wounds. He knew that in the back of his mind, his priorities weren’t straight - he should be running! - but he was so sick, so dirty, tired, he just couldn’t pass the opportunity to get clean.
The water was nice and soothing for his aching, abused muscles. The oils smelled nice, there was even a variety of soaps to choose from. He cleaned himself up, his beard, everything, all the dirt sliding off and sullying the water but he didn’t even care. It was good enough. Leaning back, he let out a soft sigh, closing his eyes. He was so content. The relief he felt was so great that when the door opened again and Palpatine, his black-cloak visage, walked in... he didn’t even care. He felt nothing, even as he turned and stared at him coolly as he approached.
“Comfortable?” That menacing, yet somehow amused voice asked. Obi-Wan could muster nothing more than his stare, waiting for something to happen. For him to say something. For the guards to come back and haul him away, telling him how stupid he was for getting caught in this trap of comfort. But, no one came. It was merely the two of them, having a stare-off.
“I can see that you are. This is a much nicer place than where you’ve been for the last few months, isn’t it?”
… months? MONTHS?! He knew it had been a long time, but-- several months. Knowing that made him sick, his stomach twisting into knots, though his face managed to stay impassive.
“I could find you much nicer accommodations. All you need do is ask.”
That piqued his curiosity, and he was so tempted to ask-- but then, he realized, that was the weakness within him. The cold loneliness and the pain of this place making him weak inside, vulnerable to any kindness. Which was likely the entire point of his experience here. He was led to this room purposely; they knew that he would make his way out and that’s why no one stopped him. He was meant to get this far, and they predicted that he would be foolish and take an instant comfort over the chance of escape.
Their plan had worked.
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