"Master Brakiss? The intruder being detained on the fourth floor basement in cell B12 demands an audience with you."

"Does he." Inside his sitting room, Brakiss smiled coolly over the rim of his goblet and lounged like a resting panther in his chair, yawning. Sitting like a picturesque statue at his side, Zekk was motionless, watching his master with an indiscernible expression on his pale face.

Brakiss rose, his silver robes billowing around him like liquid mercury. Zekk rose automatically and fell into step behind his master as Brakiss followed the storm trooper guard in the direction of the fourth floor basement on Endor. "Have you collected the names of our prisoners?" Brakiss inquired with genteel curiosity.

"Only the one, sir," answered the storm trooper briskly. "He identifies himself as Mr. Ulysses Jinks, sir, but the others won’t speak a word."

"Is that so."

"Yes, sir."

They rounded another corner inside the newly constructed base on Endor and came to a stop in front of the elevator that would transport them to the fourth floor basement. Zekk waited silently behind his master, his gaze fixed on the flimsy metal wall directly in front of him. He longed to return to Yavin IV, where Prime Minister Tan of Denton was plotting to remove Jacen from his prison cell. Brakiss had been in a fit of rage when he had first learned of Kehrik’s actions, and had been prepared to dismember the Twi’lek limb from limb. Zekk winced as he remembered offering himself up in place of Kehrik.

Brakiss had unleashed his anger on Zekk in ways that had made the young knight beg for mercy, mercy that was not given.

Any emotional attributes Zekk’s face had once retained had been etched away over the months following that incident. Zekk found it easier to conceal his pain and terror of Brakiss behind a mask of impassivity and remorselessness. His pupils tread on their toes around him, fearing him more than they had in the months prior to "the incident." Zekk’s cold steel gaze could pinion a weaker student to the spot, could make them quiver in the midst of their terror.

They never suspected the terror that reverberated throughout Zekk’s frame each time Brakiss sent a wandering eye over his torn body.

"Here we are," Brakiss said with a false, chipper smile as the elevator stopped on their floor. He gesticulated with a slightly sardonic smile for Zekk to walk in ahead of him. "After you?"

"Thank you, Master," Zekk answered stiffly and stepped into the elevator. He pressed himself up against the wall to avoid more contact with Brakiss than was necessary.

The Sith lord glided elegantly into the elevator and waited as the storm trooper followed. Presently, the contraption began to lower itself through the floors of the building, and Zekk watched, bemused, at the view of the forest around him.

Rather than decimating the Ewok population on the forest planet, Brakiss had instructed his subordinates to build around their structures and pathways through the trees. As the elevator dropped steadily downward, Zekk could see the tiny bear-like creatures trotting along their bridges. One of them watched the elevator with childish curiosity shining in its bright eyes.

I wonder if that little guy has dreams, Zekk wondered pensively, and did not notice when the elevator heaved to a stop and Brakiss and the storm trooper strode off.

"Zekk?"

"Yes, master," Zekk answered distantly and followed.

The fourth floor basement was unreachable by elevators at the time, and so stairs were the only possible way down. Following the storm trooper, Brakiss and Zekk were led through a labyrinth of curving, winding corridors, before a stairwell opened up before them, descending into the depths of the base. Apprehensively, Zekk eyed the rickety stairs.

"Was it not possible to devise a way for the elevator to reach the basements?" he suggested, sardonically insulting the technicians on the base.

"Stairs make it harder for prisoners to escape, unnoticed," the storm trooper answered stiffly, then added as an afterthought, "Sir."

"I see," Zekk murmured testily. "Proceed then."

~

"One-twenty-three," Jinks mumbled softly and scratched another mark onto the concrete wall of the prison cell. His words, spoken so quietly, were overwhelming in their volume; the room was small, cramped, and empty besides Jinks and his clouded thoughts. He leaned against the concrete weakly and closed his eyes, trembling in his feverish state.

He couldn’t remember exactly how long he had been confined to this prison, only that it had been at least three weeks after his twentieth birthday. His teenage years were now officially behind him, a part of his past to which he could not return. Misery sat beside him in the dingy cell, poking him, nettling him, teasing him, taunting him with memories of those who he loved, cherished, and had no access to what so ever. It would have been a great salve upon his conscience to know even that Freigo was dead, but he was not even allotted that. For all Jinks knew, his friend could be a slave on some distant planet by now, a beast of burden for some cruel slave driver. D40…

Jinks had watched in anguish as the poor, annoyingly lovable droid was destroyed in the incineration chamber. There was no hope of repairing him; his remains were nothing more than ashes, now mixed in and amongst a landfill of other droid parts.

Rusty had been taken to a chamber deeper into the core of the planet than Jinks thought was safe to delve. Despite how he quested out with his thoughts and strained his mind to the limit, he could not reach his friend.

For the first time in years, Jinks was alone. Completely alone.

It terrified him.

There were times during his early childhood where he would wake in the middle of the night and find himself alone. At the time, when he was still Ulysses, he would scream and cry, and flail about until his mother came to him and held him in her warm embrace. Even then, as she rocked him back into the comfort of his slumbering dreams, he was alone. His mother kept him at bay, her Force shields a constant barrier between them.

During the years that he shared his life with Kurnok, his phobia of being alone all but disappeared. The Georgina was home to him by then, the ship itself company when no one else was on board. Of course, Kurnok’s presence was a constant security blanket for him to cling to; falling asleep at night with the Twi’lek’s even breathing at his side made his entire being quiver pleasantly. When his nightmares came (rare though those times were), Kurnok was there to hold him when he awoke in a flurry of flailing limbs and frightened cries. Kurnok was always there; to hold him close, to smooth his unkempt, tangled hair, to kiss away the tears as they coursed down his cheeks in glistening rivulets and promise him that, in the morning, it would all be all right…

But Kurnok was not there now. Jinks felt his windpipe close as his breaths came in shorter, strained gasps. He lifted one trembling hand to his throat and clutched at the heavy metal manacle that kept him chained to the wall. He jerked against it, trying in vain to loosen it enough to allow an extra gasp of wonderfully sordid air to seep into his starved lungs. He craved the outdoors, then, the vibrancy of the forest and the scent of the air after the rain. He longed for the humid summers of his home, Zydirnon, for the taste of fresh water that could be hauled out of the natural well beside his home. He longed for all those things that he knew he would likely never have, nor see, again, and his heart ached because of it.

He drowsed for an indefinite amount of time, awakening to the sound of muted discussion outside his prison door. Dizzily, he lifted his head off of the stone wall of his cell and stared, bewildered, at the shadows that entered his chamber. Garish white light exploded from behind the two figures who stood before them, its glare making their facial expressions indiscernible. Their words were hushed, spoken to each other in conspiring tones.

"Perhaps this is the wrong cell, Master," one suggested.

"No, this is B12. Have a look at the door yourself."

"But surely, Master… this poor fool obviously has no idea where he is, let alone who it is that holds him prisoner."

"You would be surprised, Zekk," the other responded with a curl of amusement lacing his words, "what a dying man is conscious of."

Jinks squinted at the second shadowy figure, and was able to discern a splash of gold atop his head; his hair. The first lingered in the doorway, watching with a slightly omniscient quality to his stature.

"Come now, man, oughtn’t you answer when you’re spoken to?" the gold-haired man rebuked him sharply; his voice, so loud in the small chamber, sent an arrow pain throughout Jinks’ head. He opened his mouth to answer, but his parched mouth could manage no words. Had he been spoken to at all?

"Bit daft, isn’t he," the figure mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. "Ah well. There is a reason why the cream rises to the top, Zekk, and the curd sinks to the bottom."

"Water," Jinks choked weakly. A thousand insults sprang to his lips, and he longed to shout them at both of the men until their ears bled from the assault of profanity, but the only word he could whisper was "water," and he found that that was what he longed for most.

"Master Brakiss, shall I—?"

"Of course," Brakiss bade him, waving one hand in a nebulous gesture. Zekk let his eyes rest on Jinks for a moment longer, then turned and glided from the cell. Jinks closed his eyes and listened as Zekk’s footsteps faded into silence.

A pair of familiar, darkly tinted glasses clattered to the ground in front of him. Startling out of his brief lapse into unconsciousness, Jinks groped out for them, curled his fingers around them, and brought them to his face. Placing them on the ridge of his nose, the ungodly garish light was instantly dimmed to a more tolerable hue. Jinks felt his headache subside slowly, and forced himself into a half sitting position.

Brakiss’ figure came into fuller focus, and Jinks managed to quirk a wry, defiant grin at him. The Sith lord was, despite the situation, very easy on the eyes, being lithe of build and garbed in his stately attire. Jinks let his elbows rest on his kneecaps and tried his best to look like the ruffian he was.

Brakiss made a soft "tsk" sound at Jinks sudden brazen behavior and remarked in a soft, demeaning tone, "My… aren’t we arrogant all of a sudden?"

Jinks kept his derisive smirk plastered onto his face. Be glad I can’t answer you, pretty boy, he sneered mentally.

Brakiss took a careful, calculated step closer, gloved hands clasped together behind his back. His expensive boots sounded equally expensive as they struck the stone floor. "Won’t you at least thank me for returning your specs to you? I didn’t have you, as I’m sure you realize."

Brakiss’ eyebrows lifted, and darkly he responded, "Oh really?" as if he’d heard Jinks’ words. A malicious smile spread itself across the Sith lord’s face. "I shall readily do so then…"

"Master?" Zekk reappeared at the entrance to the cell. In his grasp, he held a canister of water. Jinks stared at it, almost wantonly.

Brakiss pursed his lips at the appearance of his apprentice, then motioned Zekk to enter once more. "Give it to him," he ordered. "I am curious about what he has to say."

Zekk stared at Brakiss for a moment in silence, then approached Jinks hesitantly. Jinks watched the dark-haired Sith’s approach, sizing him up. The young man could not have been much older than Jinks himself was, and judging by the way he behaved around his master, Jinks surmised that the young Sith’s loyalties were split down the center. As Zekk placed the canister in his hands, Jinks met his gaze over the rim of his dark glass. Fierce emerald green eyes returned his stare, but with indifference. Zekk rose to his feet slowly and returned to Brakiss’ side.

Jinks unscrewed the top of the canister with trembling fingers and did not reach to catch it when the top fell to the stone floor with a loud clatter. He brought the canister to his lips and took a deep draught from it. Rich water gushed across his chapped lips, into his mouth, and down his parched throat. Relief had never tasted so sweet as it did then, but Jinks forced himself to stop drinking before he truly wanted to. He sought out the cap and screwed it back on, then set the canister down on the ground beside him. He would drink more later.

Brakiss lifted his narrow brows at Jinks and inquired, "You wanted an audience with me?" with another of his demeaning smiles. Jinks bristled instinctively and narrowed his eyes.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do, you pig-headed, pansy-ass, low-life of an Imp!" he snarled before he could catch himself. "I wanted an audience with you so I could do this!" And with precision that would have made Kurnok proud, Jinks spit a disgusting glob of saliva onto one of Brakiss’ expensive leather boots.

The last thing he remembered before the world went black was smirk that Zekk carefully hid from Brakiss’ view.