AN: This is a concept I have thought about. Please let me know if it has potential.
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Velex Marr, an archeologist, stood before the desk of Chancellor Palpatine, his eyes fixed on the floor as he recalled the countless times the Jedi had thwarted his research. His passion for uncovering the secrets of the ancient Sith had been hindered at every turn by their meddling. But now, standing in the Chancellor's office, he felt a glimmer of hope.
Palpatine leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. "These coordinates you speak of, Velex. What makes you believe they lead to something of value?"
Velex looked up, meeting Palpatine's gaze. "My Lord Chancellor, I have stong reasons to believe that these coordinates point to a hidden Rakatan vault on the Unknown World of Lehon. Within that vault, I suspect we may find powerful artifacts and technology that could shift the balance of power in this war."
He especially emphasised the possibility of artifacts, because he knew that the Chancellor was interested in them. You didn't need to be a genius to know that, it was an open secret. And if you didn't know that, you would know once you entered his office. It was decorated with nothing except artifacts.
Palpatine's eyes narrowed, intrigued by Velex's claim. He rose from his chair and walked around the desk, his cloak billowing behind him. "Rakatans, you say? Those ancient Force-wielding beings from the Infinite Empire?" He paused, considering the implications. "If what you claim is true, Velex, this could be the break we've been waiting for. The war has gone on for far too long."
He placed a hand on Velex's shoulder, his grip firm. "I want you to lead an expedition to Lehon. Don't worry about funding. It shall be my personal project for you, then no one can interfere in your work. Retrieve whatever artifacts you find, and bring them to me. I have a feeling they will prove... invaluable in our efforts to restore peace and order to the galaxy."
Velex nodded in excitement, a relieved smile forming on his lips. It was the first time someone didn't counter with scepticism or dissatisfaction at his interest. "Of course, my Lord Chancellor. I won't disappoint you."
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Velex Marr stepped out of the Chancellor's office with his mind ablaze and heart pounding. For the first time in years, the path ahead was unobstructed. No Jedi council to appeal to. No senators questioning the merit of "dusty old ruins." He had the Chancellor's blessing.
The following days passed in a blur.
Velex worked with the quiet determination of a man obsessed. A man who finally got a chance at achieving greatness.
He pulled old star charts, cross-referenced restricted data from the Archives, and falsified requests under the guise of a "deep-core archaeological analysis", to keep questions under a minimum. He had no real authority after all, but Palpatine's subtle nod was enough to keep the bureaucrats at bay. No one dared question a project bearing the Chancellor's private seal.
He requisitioned a small diplomatic courier vessel under the Academic Outreach Initiative, a defunct program few remembered. Forgotten because of the ongoing war.
He enlisted a crew of four: himself, a pilot droid, and two technicians, both ex-salvagers he paid under the table.
He told them nothing about Lehon.
They didn't ask.
He packed carefully. Survival gear, atmospheric filters, an encrypted holorecorder with the coordinates, and a personal vibrodagger. Just in case. And at the very bottom of his pack a leather-bound journal he had written himself, page by page, from scraps of forbidden lore and dismissed hypotheses.
Three days later, the ship broke atmosphere over Coruscant and leapt into hyperspace.
The journey to the Unknown World was not direct. He jumped from system to system in a winding path that skirted Republic watch zones. No military escorts. No Jedi oversight. Still, even caution had its limits.
Near the edges of Republic space, in the Relgim sector, his vessel was pulled from hyperspace by a Jedi patrol frigate responding to an irregular transponder ping.
Two Jedi boarded: a calm, older Mirialan woman and her younger Padawan: a human with a tight braid and the wary eyes of a battlefield veteran.
Velex met them with feigned patience. "Scholars tend to wander," he explained, presenting his mission orders. "I'm tracing ancient trade patterns that predate the Republic. Dead ends and ghost trails. Nothing worth troubling over."
The Padawan eyed him. "You're heading for the Unknown Regions."
Velex smiled thinly. "I go where the stars lead me."
The Jedi master exchanged a quiet glance with her apprentice. She handed the datapad back, the Chancellor's seal coming in clutch once more. "Be careful, Doctor. Not all maps lead to answers. Some lead to graves. May the force be with you."
Two jumps later, the navicomputer began to fail. Gravity wells twisted signals. Scans grew unreliable. The Unknown Regions. Uncharted space, full of phantom signals and dead systems.
Then, finally, the ship emerged from hyperspace above their destination.
Lehon.
A desolate desert planet, half-shrouded in black ever present clouds, yet with no possibility of rain.
He stood at the viewport of his ship, his breath caught in his throat. The air inside felt heavier, as if he stood before greatness.
"Prepare for landing near that mountain," he ordered the pilot droid.
At last, he had arrived.
The shuttle kicked up a cyclone of dust as it descended into the cracked basin at the foot of the jagged, iron-gray mountain. The land was silent, save for the endless howl of wind through dead canyons. There was no life. No movement. Just stillness, oppressive and ancient.
Velex stepped out into the dust and silence, the ground brittle beneath his boots. He scanned the terrain, inhaled the dry, metallic air through filters.
Then it hit him.
A gut feeling.
He was close. Not to some broken statue or rotted scroll. To something real. Something that would make his name echo in the halls of history. His eyes were drawn to a nearby outcropping of black stone, half-consumed by sand.
Carvings covered its surface, faded, angular glyphs written in ancient Rakatan script. He brushed a gloved hand across them, and for a moment he thought… they moved.
He stumbled back, breath catching.
This was it.
No doubt. No hesitation. This was what he had been searching for all those years.
The technicians worked through the night, hacking through rock and decayed metal plating under Velex's relentless direction. He barely slept. Barely spoke. He stood at the edge of the site, watching like a hawk as dirt and stones were pried free inch by inch.
By dawn, the outcropping had revealed a descending staircase of black obsidian, slick with ancient corrosion. Each step downward thickened the air making it warmer, heavier, tinged with the scent of long-sealed dust and ozone.
The obsidian staircase ended at a sealed door, wide, rounded at the top, and layered in overlapping slabs of ancient alloy. Velex paused, studying the faded Rakatan glyphs carved across its surface.
They weren't decorative.
They were a warning.
The message, clear and precise, etched in centuries-old blood:
DEATH WITHIN. DO NOT OPEN.
Below the warning, smaller glyphs followed. Names, perhaps. Sacrifices. Or a final record of those who sealed the chamber.
Velex ran his hand across the door, brows furrowing. "A little melodramatic," he muttered.
Behind him, one of the technicians shifted uneasily. "What does it say?"
"Doesn't matter," Velex replied, already stepping closer. "Whatever killed them… if anything did… is long gone. This vault is millennia old."
Before them loomed a vast circular door, fused into the surrounding stone. No lights. No panels. No visible means of entry. Just a massive slab of alloy, cracked around the edges from tectonic stress, but still sealed.
There was no opening mechanism.
Because it wasn't meant to be opened.
Velex stared at it, heart pounding. "This is it," he whispered. "This is why we're here."
He ordered the technicians to set charges.
It took hours. More.
The outer structure had been built with obscene precaution, layered metal, backed by stone, reinforced by some kind of nullifying energy field that had long since flickered out. Finally, after enough drilling and explosive cutting to make the mountain groan, the last of the barrier gave way with a hiss of dust and the grinding shriek of ruptured alloy.
Beyond the breach, air rushed outward, dry and stale.
Velex raised a glowrod.
The hallway beyond was silent, massive, and still. Its ceiling arched high above in complete darkness. The walls were smooth and seamless. Just past the breach, the ground was littered with what he guessed were bones. Desiccated, twisted remains, still clad in the remnants of Rakatan armor.
One of the technicians stopped short. "Are those…?"
"Yes," Velex said quietly. "Guards, most likely. Left behind."
He stepped over a cracked helmet, jaw clenched, "they failed," his attention elsewhere. They walked farther inside along the hallway until they came to a T-junction.
The right side caught their eyes. It was a smaller room.
At the center of the it stood a massive containment pylon. A circular dais of obsidian surrounded by broken pylons and shattered emitters.
Hovering above the dais, suspended by the last vestiges of long-dead systems, was... a thing.
A body, more machine than flesh.
Sleek. Brutal. Arms low like a beast ready to strike.
Its surface was scarred, not by age, but by combat. The helmet was marked with deep, gnarled scratches. A sharp, pronounced horn reached up from the center of the faceplate. It split the helmet with geometric precision, tapering into a pointed chin that gave the entire face an aggressive, angular profile. It's body was decorated with golden accents and weirdly enough a scarf was around it's neck. Or his neck, as the physique would hint at.
The absence of visible features, no mouth, no nose, no eyes, was what made the archeologist suspect that it was closer to a droid than human.
Velex's mouth went dry as he inspected it's markings closer.
He realized that this was no mere machine.
This was a creature frozen in the middle of a war.
Something about it radiated pain, not the memory of it, but the living presence. Rage coiled in the air. A fury that had not dulled with time.
And around it, on every wall, was something even more macabre.
Carvings. Not typical Rakatan. More primitive. Scratch marks, etched in metal by something with no tools. Over and over again, in spiraling madness:
"It hurts.""Let me out.""It hurts."
Velex took a shaky step forward, breath catching in his throat. Those were the same marks found on the body.
This wasn't just ancient technology.
It was a prison.
His hand hovered near his belt, fingers trembling inches above his vibrodagger. He didn't know why. The machine wasn't moving. It hadn't even twitched once. But still… the air was tense, like a room full of blasters all half-triggered.
He gestured silently, and one of the technicians stepped forward with a scanning device. The moment the beam touched the figure's form, the scanner overloaded in a violent spark of static.
The technician dropped it, cursing. "What the—?"
"Don't," Velex snapped, voice sharp. He stepped forward himself, circling the platform slowly.
The body floated within a faint magnetic lock, sustained by old Rakatan tech still sputtering to life. The readings were faint, nearly indiscernible, but not dead. Whatever it was… it was still alive.
Or something close to being alive.
He stared where he would expect the eyes to be, but there was nothing. Just sleek black metal. But Velex felt it watching.
He tore his gaze away and turned to the wall again. The clawed carvings spiraled in maddening loops around the chamber, overlapping and growing more erratic the closer they came to the dais. One repeated line clawed deeper than the rest:
"You abandoned me."
Velex swallowed.
"Begin recording," he said at last, turning to his crew. "I want a full scan of this chamber, every mark, every glyph. Carefully. No more contact with the structure. We'll bring in the emitter sleds and suspend the pylon for transport."
One of the techs hesitated. "You… want to move that thing?"
Velex didn't even look at him. "Yes. It's coming with us."
He turned away, already lost in thought.
This discovery, whatever it was, might be the cornerstone of a new age. Not just for archaeology. For the entire galaxy.
The team hadn't yet recovered from the shock of the first chamber when Velex moved again, back out of the small vault. He made his way to the other side of the T-junction, where the hallway went deeper.
Velex's glowrod flickered.
The corridor eventually opened.
He froze.
A vast circular chamber stretched out before him, dome-roofed and layered in tiers, like an amphitheater built to watch something divine or show something off to an audience.
But it was what stood at the center that stole his breath.
A massive containment field, still active, flickered softly around a sphere of opaque, silvery liquid suspended in mid-air. Not water. Not bacta. Something else entirely. The containment rings that once reinforced it lay shattered on the floor in pieces, but the core stasis matrix still pulsed faintly. Sustained by a buried power source deep below.
Inside that sphere, floating in weightless repose, was a figure.
Human.
Young. Pale-skinned. Dressed in a sleek black bodysuit of unfamiliar material, hooked to ancient interfaces by long silver strands. He did not move. But he was breathing.
Velex whispered aloud, more to himself than the crew that had caught up to him. "What's a human doing here?"
He stepped closer, gaze locked on the figure in the pod. There were no databanks, no readouts, no obvious purpose for this chamber. Just the floating figure, sealed inside this strange fluid like a preserved specimen.
Then his glowrod caught something else.
Shapes. Around the perimeter of the chamber.
He turned, eyes widening.
The walls were decorated with pedestals, each one displaying a dormant form, similar to the first creature he'd found.
Sleek armor plated their bodies, some smooth and elegant, others jagged and monstrous. No two were alike. Some stood in coiled stances, like beasts ready to pounce. Others loomed, as if standing guard. A few still gripped weapons fused directly to their limbs, swords, lances, even what looked like guns.
Statues.
That's what they resembled at first.
But Velex felt it the moment he approached.
They weren't just that.
There was weight to them. Not physical or spiritual. Each one seemed to hum at the edge of his senses, like they remembered something. Or waited for something. It was the strangest feeling he ever felt. Something he couldn't put into words.
He walked slowly between them, awe written across his face. He didn't speak, didn't breathe for a moment. He trailed his fingers across the pedestal of the nearest one, brushing aside layers of dust and time.
They were art.
Who had made these? The Rakata? Were they able to accomplish this. Wasn't this… beyond everything they thought the Rataka could do.
And yet the human at the center remained the true enigma.
He turned back, eyes narrowing at the still figure inside the liquid sphere.
The silence pressed on, until a voice behind him broke it.
"Sir…" one of the technicians said quietly, eyes still locked on the nearest armored figure. "Should we extract them too?"
Velex didn't respond at first.
He was still staring at the human in the center.
Who was he? A captive? A controller? A creator?
Velex gave a sharp nod. "Prepare to extract everything. Carefully. We'll bring it all back."
The technicians moved swiftly but with practiced care. The containment field around the human figure was stabilized, delicate machinery humming as they engaged auxiliary power cells.
One by one, the dormant suits were cut out with parts of their pedestals. Velex watched as they methodically stored more than necessary out of fear that they might damage something.
His eyes followed every movement, wary yet captivated. When the last machine in the other room was sealed, ready for transport and the bubble with the human figure safely secured, Velex allowed himself a brief nod.
"All of it," he ordered quietly. "Bring it all back to the ship exactly as it is."
There would be time later. For study. For understanding. For whatever they had found.
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As the ship neared Coruscant, a sudden commotion rippled through the landing clearance channels. The vessel was flagged for immediate inspection — not by customs, nor by military protocol, but by three of the most powerful figures in the Republic.
Velex's heart pounded. He recognized the override codes immediately. He didn't need confirmation. He already knew.
The boarding ramp descended with a hiss.
Master Yoda, small and ancient, entered first. His eyes, though calm, missed nothing. Beside him, Master Mace Windu — stern, focused, and wholly unamused. And following just behind, as if by coincidence, was Chancellor Palpatine, hands folded calmly before him.
Velex straightened instinctively, suppressing a tremor in his legs. "Chancellor. Masters."
Yoda's gaze swept the hold, resting on one crate in particular. The one with him inside.
"Strong, this presence is," Yoda said, voice low and heavy with concern. "Dark, it feels. Like… a scream, long buried."
Windu stepped forward, face set like stone. "What did you bring back, Velex Marr? What's in the cargo?"
Velex felt his throat tighten. There was a time he might have bluffed — but not here. Not with them.
He kept his voice even. "Artifacts. From a Rakatan vault. I— I don't know exactly what they are. Machines, mostly. Sealed, inactive. I brought them back as I found them. Nothing was tampered with."
Palpatine's expression remained calm, even kindly. "Velex acted on my directive. His task was recovery — not analysis. That will come later, with the proper oversight."
Windu didn't take his eyes off Velex. "And you felt nothing? During the excavation? Nothing unnatural?"
"I'm… I'm not a Jedi, Master Windu." Velex's voice cracked. "I don't feel the Force. There was something strange, yes. But I thought it was just the place. Old, untouched. Ancient pressure in the air. I didn't activate anything."
Yoda's ears twitched. "More than place, it was. A presence. Anger. Pain. And not dead."
Velex's blood ran cold. "They were sealed," he said. "I didn't disturb them."
Palpatine stepped in again, smoothly as ever. "Master Yoda, perhaps what you sense is residual. A remnant of an ancient conflict. Let us not forget — the Rakata were known for dark practices. Pain may be the legacy of the place, not the artifact itself."
Windu looked unconvinced. "We'll see."
He turned to the crates. "These will be taken into restricted custody. Jedi Archives. Nothing moves or is touched without our supervision."
Velex stiffened. "I brought this back for the Chancellor's research initiative—"
"You brought back something the Jedi can't ignore," Windu interrupted. "Whether you intended to or not."
Yoda looked at Velex one last time. "Careful, Doctor Marr. What is buried, often is, for a reason."
With that, the Jedi moved to inspect the cargo. Palpatine remained at Velex's side, silent until they were alone.
Then, he spoke — low, calm.
"You handled that well. Better than I expected."
Velex exhaled, finally letting the tension in his chest unwind. "They wanted to tear me apart."
Palpatine smiled faintly. "They don't trust what they can't control. Remember that. Let them do what they deem to be right. Let them worry. In time, they'll forget. Like always. Buried under paperwork and stored somewhere in a vault. Somewhere no one would notice if something went missing."
He placed a hand gently on Velex's shoulder.
"Your journey is just beginning."
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The examination chamber had been sealed off from all but the highest clearance levels, deep within the underbelly of the Republic Science Division, far from the Jedi Temple. Officially, the site belonged to a weapons research think tank. Unofficially, it was a vault for things the Republic didn't understand — or didn't want others to.
The room buzzed with hushed voices. Jedi archivists and Republic engineers moved around the suspended machines like pale moons orbiting a dormant sun. Most kept their distance from Crate 1, the one housing the horned, scarred figure now designated Specimen Umbra.
And above them all, from the shadows of the gallery level, Sly Moore watched.
She was silent. As always.
Her expression was unreadable. Her pale skin caught no light. Her white eyes blinked slowly, as if everything below was moving too quickly for her to bother.
She did not speak. She did not need to.
Instead, she gently reached outward, not physically, but through the Force.
The archivist standing at the primary console, a mid-level Jedi Knight named Elen Kor, paused in her work. Her brows furrowed. For a moment, she forgot what she'd been saying. Her fingers hovered over the keys.
'What was I... ?' she thought. 'Right. The scanner sweep.'
She typed in the override code without realizing she hadn't known it moments before.
Below, the humanoid machine's internal structure flickered briefly on the console, dense layers of unfamiliar alloys, folded matrices of bio-metal, and other unknown structures.
Elen Kor stared at the scan, then blinked as the screen refreshed, now showing only static and a corruption flag. A data glitch. Must've been.
She frowned, then moved on, dismissing it from her thoughts entirely.
Sly Moore didn't move.
She merely turned her gaze to the next inspector, a Republic scientist reviewing the containment field logs around the stasis sphere holding the human, the one they now called Specimen Zero.
Again, her presence brushed gently across his thoughts. Not like a shove, not even like a whisper, more like a nudge, a breeze so familiar that it felt like his own thinking.
Moments later, he added a routine deactivation protocol to the log, scheduled for several days later, not remembering why, only that it felt like a logical step.
High above, Sly Moore placed two gloved fingers to her temple. The contact lens in her left eye flickered as it recorded, scanned, and encrypted the findings.
Within the hour, everything, the scans, the impressions, even the subtle Force feedback some Jedi muttered about, would be in a private, eyes-only file routed through the Chancellor's most secure channel.
And Chancellor Palpatine would know.
She turned to leave, her pale robes trailing behind her, already vanishing through the side corridor without a sound.
No one noticed she had ever been there.
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The Republic facility had emptied for the night. Only the security droids remained, cycling between their patrol paths.
But down in Sublevel Theta, where the walls were lined with sealed vaults and reinforced slabs of permacrete, one light flickered back on.
An access door slid open.
Anakin Skywalker stepped inside.
He walked with purpose, no guards, no escort. He was above such things now. The Chancellor had whispered that he should see it for himself. That something had called to him. Palpatine hadn't said it directly, but Anakin felt it. As soon as he neared the vault, he knew exactly which crate to find.
He paused in front of Crate 1.
The machine inside, the one celled "Umbra", was still slumped in stasis. The containment field shimmered faintly, barely holding back the immense, brooding energy that coiled around the figure like a storm waiting to be unleashed.
Anakin stepped closer.
There was something wrong about it, something broken and raw. The machine looked like a warrior, built to kill. But the Force told him otherwise. Not a droid. Not a thing. It felt... alive. Wounded. Like a scream trapped in metal.
And then, he felt it.
Another presence.
His eyes snapped toward the adjacent chamber.
The human.
The one the scientists called Specimen Zero. The one suspended in fluid at the center of the containment sphere, wires buried in his spine and skull, unmoving but alive.
Anakin's breath caught in his throat. There was something unnatural here, something familiar and foreign all at once. This wasn't like sensing a Jedi or even a Sith. It was deeper, like the imprint of the Force… but twisted, unformed.
He reached out.
Pressed a hand to the edge of the sphere.
The moment his skin made contact with the field, the room shuddered. A pulse shot through the containment matrix, rippling like liquid glass. Lights flickered. Consoles spat static.
He stood in an open field, or what remained of it. The sky was black, not from night, but from fire. Ash fell like snow, smothering the ruins below. The ground beneath his boots squelched wetly.
He looked down.
Bodies.
Twisted. Torn. Some still twitching. Rakatan warriors — some armored, others half-naked, most clutching crude weapons or shielding those behind them. But they weren't all fighters. He saw civilians. Mothers. Children. Cowering behind shattered walls of ancient stone.
The air stank of burning flesh and ozone.
In the distance, he saw him.
Umbra.
The machine moved through the carnage like a blade given form. A glowing, crackling energy blade in hand, tinged with red, not by design but by the blood it had spilled. The golden accents of his armor were darkened by soot and streaked in gore. The scarf around his neck whipped in the wind like a war banner.
But it wasn't battle he waged.
It was slaughter.
With a burst of motion, too fast for the eye to follow, Umbra vanished, reappearing in the center of a Rakatan formation. The Force shivered around him as energy arced from his body, the soldiers he had just passed fell, bisected in a flash of red light.
Anakin watched, frozen.
Umbra didn't stop. He extended his sword arm and slammed it into the ground, and with a flicker of barely restrained energy, an unstoppable wave erupted, made not of metal, but of condensed, screaming Force energy. It ripped the crowd around him apart, warriors, elders, fleeing families alike. Screams filled the air, then were silenced in a heartbeat.
Anakin staggered forward, his heart pounding. "Stop—!"
No voice came out.
Children screamed and ran.
Umbra turned, tracking them.
He moved like a beast, not a man, gliding with supernatural agility. He lunged, carving a swath through the retreating figures. One child, a girl, maybe seven, tripped and fell. She looked up, eyes wide, tears mixing with soot on her cheeks.
She raised her arms in defense.
Yet couldn't even scream before it was over.
Umbra kept going.
This wasn't war.
This was revenge. Punishment.
And deep beneath it, something else.
The Pain Beneath
The field bled away, melting into darkness. The sounds of agony and fire faded.
Now Anakin was inside something. A chamber, metallic, close, pulsing with power. The walls wept with black fluid, and the air stank of decay and blood. Somewhere nearby, metal groaned.
And he felt it.
Agony.
Not metaphorical. Not poetic. Real. Vivid. Endless.
A fire beneath the skin. Inside the skin. Like molten glass flowing through his veins, eating him alive. His body didn't burn. It melted. Shifted. Changed. Every movement screamed. Every moment awake was a torture and yet the body healed. Rebuilt. Sustained the agony.
Whatever it was did not kill him.
It kept him alive, feeding on his torment, twisting him into something more.
The Force was there, but wrong. Sickened. Twisted beyond recognition. Forced to abide by his will.
"I don't want to feel it anymore," a voice rasped from the black. "Please. Just make it stop."
But he couldn't.
Killing was the only thing that dulled the pain slightly.
And so he raged.
And so he slaughtered.
The vision shifted. Flashed to somethign else:
A child's scream, not of fear, but of terror beyond reason. A white-hot void stretched around him, seething and alive. Energy tore through his body like fire and static. His fingers disintegrated mid-reach, only to reform, nerve by nerve.
He wasn't alone.
There were others, hundreds, thousands, all vanishing into the swirling rift.
One by one, they were swallowed, flayed apart by time, light, and force.
And then... silence.
He returned. He alone.
Another flash:
Cold metal walls. Chains. Restraints burrowed into flesh. Alien whispers in ancient tongues. Rakatan scientists, tall, warped silhouettes with mouths that didn't move and minds that pressed like ice into bone.
They called him a paradox. They called him an error.
They carved him open anyway.
Again.
And again.
He screamed. No sound came out.
They killed him, over and over, hearts stopped, limbs severed, body scorched, but he never stayed dead.
He kept waking up.
Always waking up.
Back together.
One Rakatan leaned close, its face wholly consumed by indifference. It whispered something.
And drove the blade in again.
More flashes. Faster now:
A chamber of glass and steel, lined with instruments of pain. Limbs torn. Organs removed while he watched from inside his own skull. He saw everything.
A moment of stillness, strapped down, his own blood pooling beneath him, before lightning coursed through his spine, bending him into unnatural arcs.
The Rakata scribbling notes, not out of cruelty, but curiosity. Dispassionate. Efficient. He was not a person. Just data.
Days. Weeks. Years. Time had no meaning. Just pain. Death. And return.
He watched as the first researchers grew old and new ones replaced them. Those also grew old and were replaced. Again and again.
Anakin gasped, collapsing to the floor. His heart thundered. His skin crawled. The air felt wrong, like it couldn't hold him anymore.
Inside the sphere, the person floated still, his expression empty, but his eyes were open and locked on Anakin.
Not pleading. Not grateful.
Understanding.
Their suffering had different shapes and magnitude, but it came from the same place.
Power.Control.And being used.
Anakin stared, wide-eyed. His hand trembled.
Behind him, a sharp mechanical sound echoed.
Umbra's fingers curled into a fist.
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AN: How is it?
Yay
Nay
Any other thoughts?