Jacen lay on his side, the uncomfortably chill floor pressed up against the side of his face and his injured arm. He was immobile; one of the guards had thought it humorous to sneak into his room as he slept and shove him from his cot. Still shackled by his wrists and his ankles, he could not even save his dignity by sitting up. So instead he lay on his side, his eyes closed, trying to Force-kill himself.

It wasn’t working. He simply wasn’t wrong enough.

He had always envied his younger brother’s ability to manipulate the Force, bend it to his every whim. Anakin had a natural gift with puzzles, and with everything else he applied himself to. To Jacen, it appeared as if the boy’s only faults were in his social skills, which he seemed to have none of. Jacen had a gift for socializing and communicating with animals, but how would that help him escape from this prison?

This prison… He had called it home for four years, and now it was monstrous, the headquarters for the universe’s most bloodthirsty organization yet: the Second Imperium.

Zekk’s pleas rang clear as chimes in his ears. He gritted his teeth and forced his mind to go blank. At that moment, he did not want to think of Zekk; of the sound of his voice, of how terrified he was by what Brakiss did to him… That brought a whole new sensation to life. He shivered.

What day was it? Jacen craned his neck back to look at the slash marks on the wall, but could not make out the exact date. He had been locked away without a bath for a long time now. Every once in a while, Zekk would come in with a bucket and a sponge and wipe his forehead, gently cleaning the rest of him with a solemn expression on his face. Those brief interludes were oddly intimate, and Jacen had learned merely not to speak during them. If he did, Zekk lost his bearings and left Jacen to lay in the cold, without a blanket to keep himself warm.

Anakin. He suffered to keep his little brother’s location a secret. Despite Brakiss’ persistent efforts, the Sith had yet to break down Jacen’s mental walls. He could not purge through Jacen’s thoughts, but oh how Jacen knew he tried! He could feel it at all hours, that persistent assault that never ceased… It sounded as though someone was clashing cymbals right in his ears.

‘Tell no one of where I go,’ Anakin had told him. ‘The fate of the Republic resides with me.’

‘Be careful, okay?’ Jacen had cautioned with a weak smile. ‘Don’t forget to write occasionally.’

Of course, Jacen had received no letters. That was to be expected. If Anakin had attempted any sort of communication during Jacen’s imprisonment, then the Second Imperium had confiscated all the letters for themselves. They were likely using them in hopes of locating where Anakin was hiding out.

Well, Jacen wished them the best of luck, because only he knew where his little brother was. No amount of poking and prodding and torture would ever make him talk.

-Calm.-

The tension went out of his spine, very slightly. Jacen winced and pressed his forehead against the cold ground. Anakin was speaking to him again.

-Just a little longer, Jacen. Please hold out for me.-

Why do you ask these things of me, Anakin? Jacen wondered miserably. You expect so much of me, but I’m not even half as strong as you are, little brother.

"Stop that!" a caustic voice barked through the barred window of his cell. Jacen lifted his head dizzily off of the ground and glared at the Bothan in contempt.

"Stop what?" he sneered. "Breathing? Believe you me, I’m trying my damnedest to will myself into death, and it’s not working. If you’d like to get in here and help me along, be my guest." Ignoring the monster’s snarling retorts, Jacen laid his head back down and sighed, welcoming the wave of nausea that swept over him.

Dysentery. Perfect. His insides constricted, poisoned from the foul water-slush that Brakiss had spoon fed him over the past few weeks. His each and every breath was labored and painful, reminding him of a time so very long ago when he had lain in his mother’s arms, ill from pneumonia.

Ironically, when his mother, or his sister, had not been present to nurse him back to health, it was Zekk who clamored into his room late at night to entertain him with stories of the darkest regions of Lower Coruscant. Of how he had foiled the Lost Ones yet again, spoiling their plans to capture him and make him a part of their incorrigible gang. Norys was always just a little too slow for him and his swift reflexes. And of course, the ruffian could never compare to Zekk’s gleaming eyes and winning smile.

That smile…

God how Jacen loathed those beautiful memories.

"I’m going to die here," he croaked hoarsely, and a little mirthless laugh manifested itself in his heart. Before he could catch himself, he was laughing, rolling onto his back to take the strain off of his arms and shoulders. He was a lunatic, void of all reason for at least a moment or two. "I’m going to die here in this bloody cell, filthy as a bantha carcass, and this galaxy will keep on spinning round the center of the universe."