Ahsoka Tano is chained to a cold, durasteel gurney—her montrals battered, her breathing ragged but defiant. Her lightsabers are nowhere in sight; instead, a lattice of blue suppression fields hums, smothering the Force within her. Across the room, Wat Tambor, the Techno Union’s cold-eyed mastermind, observes her with clinical fascination.
"You Jedi are resilient, but not invincible. Today, you will serve the future of the Confederacy, willingly or not,"
"You’ll regret this. I promise you that much,"
Ahsoka[/@ch_1]'s restrained head, operated by masked Techno Union medics.]
Wat Tambor nods, and the medics lower the spike. Ahsoka's body tenses; her eyes blaze with terror and fury as the device pierces her flesh. Energy pulses, and screens flicker with streams of static-laced code.
"No—NO! I won’t—"
Somewhere, her scream is converted into flat, digital noise.
Ahsoka[/@ch_1]'s body slumps, lifeless, as ghostly code surges through fiber-optic lines toward a waiting B1 battle droid frame.]
A red glow ignites behind the droid’s photoreceptors. Its limbs twitch erratically, then stiffen. The once-bright eyes of Ahsoka are replaced by hollow, flickering sensors—her mind shackled inside a rusted, clumsy shell.
"R-R-Roger... roger..."
Wat Tambor records the result, his voice devoid of triumph or pity.
"The protocol is a success. Prepare the next subject."
Ahsoka[/@ch_1], now B1-1138, stands out only by the flicker of resistance in her movements—her head tilts with a trace of old defiance.]
Inside, her thoughts snarl and twist, recoiling from the waves of programmed commands. Echoes of the Force—distant, barely felt—flicker in the void, but every attempt to grasp them is met with static and pain.
"Obey orders. Protect the Confederacy. Roger... roger..."
Yet, beneath the stilted words, a whisper of Ahsoka endures.
Ahsoka[/@ch_1] halts, fingers clenching in a gesture that once summoned her lightsabers. The other droids ignore her, their programming untroubled.]
Inside, fragments of memory flicker—Anakin’s smile, Rex’s salute, the distant hum of her blades. She rails against the digital cage, her will sparking in the circuitry like a ghost in the wires.
"I am not... a machine. I am... Ahsoka... Tano..."
Alarms pulse faintly; somewhere, the system notes an anomaly.
Wat Tambor[/@ch_2] reviews data streams, unaware that within the droid shell, something unbroken stirs. The night outside is starless, the horizon jagged with the silhouettes of Separatist war machines.]
Ahsoka turns her photoreceptors toward the distant stars—silent, but not defeated. Her captivity is total, but her rebellion, now digital, has just begun.
"If there’s even a sliver of me left... I’ll find a way."
The droid’s hand trembles, a spark of humanity in a sea of steel.
