Cute Without the "E"

[Cryax Bane]

Location: Happyland Funeral Home and Morgue, Coruscant Undercity

In the eternal battle between Jedi and Sith, there were winners and there were losers. Then there were people like Cryax Bane. The Chiss was exactly the type of ruthless snake who profited heavily off of the age old galactic vendetta, and with his latest shipment of cryogenically frozen Jedi padawans, Bane was certain the organs of Force sensitives would turn a huge profit. After all, why wouldn’t a Coruscanti Sith Lord with a missing spleen want a replacement with a high midichlorian count? His friends in the One Sith would get a cut, of course. After all, their recent purging of Jedi enclaves throughout the galaxy were an efficient means to supply Bane with fresh bodies.

The Happyland Morgue’s assistants wheeled in the first cryogenic container, tipping it over and laying it down flat so that Cryax could begin. The Jedi padawan who rested peacefully in cryogen was young and slim with beautiful skin and dark hair that floated out like a halo around his face. Cryax tutted. Such a shame to waste that handsome face. From his records, he noticed the man’s midichlorian count was off the charts. Whatever that meant. The science-minded Chiss cared very little for the intricacies of the ways of the Force and all of its arcane mumbo jumbo. All he knew was that the credits he would soon receive would be shiny.

Norbutal, a strong paralytic, was the drug of choice for Bane to give his victims. He mixed it with a mild sedative and a localized anesthetic so that the organ “donor” would be alive and aware, but barely conscious while the procedure took place. A supply closet nearby contained a stack of of Force suppression collars waited to be snapped on the young man in case something went awry. With one last glance at the man’s record, Cryax crossed to the closet and grabbed one as a precautionary measure, setting it on the table next to the scalpel he would soon drag across the man’s chest.

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Core Worlds;
Corusca Sector;
Coruscant;
Lowest Levels of Happyland.

It was as if a thick bubble of viscous material finally burst within him, something of a dream state. But it woke him up. Woke him up in the same way a ton of bricks might, far too sudden and all at once. Blood which lay dormant before pumped with the new speed of a starfighter, a primal reactivation of organic life. The first breath he took failed, the second as well, even the third barely felt as if any real oxygen entered his lungs. Or like his lungs hadn't accepted what little there was. It, this, wasn't even clear enough to be afraid yet, only blurring lights and over shadowed shapes. Not much light, mostly darkness, and, and there was something moving. He, too, was moving. Unnaturally, it felt, more like he was floating-- being floated. The room began to take shape, cold colors, lit only in layered shadow. Because he could feel nothing, he only knew he was being dumped from what he saw. Jolts and bumbles in his vision, shaking and finally coming to a halt again. On his back.

Fear came only moments later, when, for the first time, he recognized the shapes and blurs as a face. Eyes, like red search lights and a nearly human face. Nearly, because the skin was blue, and quickly looked less and less human. Nejaa's body felt wet, without protection, barren. Cold, it was cold here, but not enough to see his breath. Surely it came with some form of massive dilation when his eyes finally really opened, for the first time. At the same time, his first successful breath sucked in with a raspy noise. His entire body was dead to him, out of his control, he couldn't even feel it. Much less command it to move as he pleased. This didn't stop it from pumping with that same adrenaline. Muscled chest and belly both heaved in unison to one another, timid movements along the tips of his fingertips. Although a regaining of physical ability, it only came as a massive hindrance for tears to send his eyes once again down into blurred, malfunctioning chaos. But he couldn't stop them when they came in thin webs down yet smooth cheeks.

He wanted too badly to scream out in fear, or even whimper, but he hadn't the ability to do so. And that was before he realized what it was this face was connected to; a body, holding a thin blade. A medical blade, like a scalpel, and it was pointed towards him. Survival in massive tidal waves flooded his mind, and he heaved again. This time, he saw his own naval coil in defensive reflex. Nothing, not one thing would stop him-- it repeated over and over in his head, faster and faster each time until his throat coughed up something. Despite the delirium which plagued him, he knew he couldn't remain silent. Now, to suggest that he spoke in normality would be false. What trickle of a voice did leave mostly closed lips was more silent than a whisper.

"Sss... sttop..."

Nausea threatened to remove whatever might be left in his stomach, though it was likely a empty gesture. Furrowed eye brows only began to express his concentration, a concentration which summoned tears larger than what came previously. Again he tried, harder and more powerful than before.

"Hhhh-- Pleease... sstop..."

[member="Cryax Bane"]

 

[Cryax Bane]

This wasn’t supposed to happen. The man lying prone beneath him should have been as still as a statue and definitely as silent as one. The cryogenicist said that the padawans wouldn’t be strong enough to fight through the Norbutal mixture. One might open his or her eyes, but words would be impossible. Unless? Bane’s blood ran cold at the thought. The young man was a more powerful Jedi. Fething hell. He told the Sith he wanted karking padawans.

Brow furrowed in frustration, his hand frantically searched the side of the cryogenic hibernation chamber, finger tapping over and over on the button that released the door. It opened with a hiss and a frosty cloud of cryogen dissipated into the air. A Force suppression collar was quickly snapped on the young man’s neck, and cuffs wound themselves around the Jedi’s wrists and ankles. Bane’s Verpine security guards loomed near, their antennae twitching with concern, and with one hand rubbing his temple, the Chiss waved in a “stand down” motion. Neither a surgeon nor a pharmacist, Cryax realized that he was ridiculously out of his element. With only a crash course in organ thieving, a profession in which one needed no degree, he stood dumbfounded and unsure what to do next. Would more Norbutal kill the man? Should he just pistol whip him into unconsciousness?

It didn’t help that the young man was insanely attractive, with long eyelashes and full lips that could not go unnoticed. Hello innocence. His beauty might have been the one thing stopping the Chiss from merely cutting him open and letting him bleed out. You won the genetic lottery, you lucky son of a Bantha. He let out a sigh, and then dropped the scalpel on the table in exasperation. He had a client waiting for these organs, a very rich Sith Lord with a matching blood type, as well as friends in very high places. Despite his waiting customer, the Chiss made no move to resume his work. Glowing red eyes simply bore into the young man as he watched the waking Jedi whose fate was still completely in limbo.

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Core Worlds;
Corusca Sector;
Coruscant;
Lowest Levels of Happyland.

It wasn't a table. It was a tray. That which the young jedi lay upon now. His body formed odd curves against the geometrically shaped, walled, and sectioned slab of metal; large sterilized grooves formed skillets to catch drained blood. In the eyes of whoever this was, he was already dead, respected as a corpse would be in taking personal permissions. It was all he could do to move his eyes for what seemed like drawn out hours, though of course were not. Bare his teeth without meaning it, and heave again. Breathing would never come easily, would it. And that face, that blue face which stared at him like an object or piece of meat. He couldn't be mean, now. Couldn't be threatening, or, or hostile. This was submission in it's most primal form, fear in its most abundant form. Lips pulled tight only to loosen again, and he wanted to move his hand. With everything in him, god, he wanted to move his hand.

"Uu-- gu-- 'lease... hh god-- 'lee..."

More tears came, these ones heated by a fire not present in the others before. Anger, their source, a rooted frustration at his own inability. How was this fair, how was this something that he could have prepared for? It made everything seem so damn useless. Who would do this? Who could-- no, who would want this for themselves? Why did this exist?

The galaxy didn't need this!?

"Nu... sttop..."

And then it broke off into a whimper, one which would challenge anyone's morals. Dark hair was stained darker with moisture, and finally his brow pushed together, muscles along his chest fired at random. When the collar touched his neck, he felt it. A pin prick of sensation which paused him entirely, momentarily, and let a rash of different textured skin release itself out in veins and streams across his abdomen. This skin looked different, alien, but something even more. Burnt into scar tissue. But the suppression collar locked in place regardless of his rather pathetic evasive efforts. The idea of focus felt foreign to him, even while a voice whispered precautionary secrets to deaf ears. Insects, not at all unlike many of the remnants on his home world, twitched and skipped with sickening, jerky movements.

All of his skin felt slippery, odd chemicals bathing him in a never felt before texture. While Nejaa's neck was useless, he pushed his eyes as far down as possible in an attempt to gain a sense of self. Plastics, like a protective bag now no longer serving its purpose folded around him in amongst the liquid.

He was exposed and vulnerable.

"... Whh... Why...?

[member="Cryax Bane"]

 

[Cryax Bane]

Something odd had happened when the Chiss applied the Force suppression collar to the boy’s delicate neck. The Jedi’s skin changed, shimmering into a strange, alien texture for a moment. Cryax cocked his head. A blue-skinned hand reached down to inspect the skin around the young man’s rippled abdomen, brushing itself against the Jedi’s flesh with a caress that would not be altogether unpleasant for the other man. The skin stretched across his body looked human now, but a few moments ago, it had looked other. As the boy’s tearful eyes pitched and rolled, searching around the room and its contents through the Norbutal haze, his full lips murmured a few badly formed words. “Why?”

“Why else? Gotta get paid, ch'eo visot,” the red-eyed Chiss answered quietly, extending a hand to wipe away one of the other man’s hot tears, that beautiful face tugging on his conscience, painting his black heart red.

Bane quickly crossed to a storage container and procured a medical scanner, and proceeded to run the flickering blue light over the Jedi’s slender frame. According to the readout, the boy’s organs were not human. That meant that they wouldn’t be a match for his powerful and impatient client. He scanned again and double-checked the readouts. Yep, still not human.

“K'et bah ch'a searoten'i,” Cryax cursed in Cheuhn, his alien vocal chords clicking out a strange intonation. He rifled through the drawer on his table and pulled out a syringe, which he stuck into the boy’s bicep, a painful prick with a horrifically long needle. The adrenaline would momentarily seep into the muscle and course through the Jedi’s bloodstream, waking him out of his drug stupor with a violent shock to his system.

“What are you?” growled Bane, then followed his question with a stern command.

“Answer me. Now.”

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Core Worlds;
Corusca Sector;
Coruscant;
Lowest Levels of Happyland.

“Why else? Gotta get paid, ch'eo visot?”

He was so cold. So uncaring and sharp. Like he was speaking to a customer, answering their petty questions. Engaging in small talk. And even though the Chiss moved in ways which might suggest otherwise, suggest he cared, or had some notion of morality, the facade only pushed Nejaa closer to sickness. The fear of choking on his own bile, in the case of nausea winning its ever present battle against oxygen for throat space, actually fell behind a few others.

When Nejaa tried speaking again he could only cough and spit out random noises, those which might easier be left without proper spelling. Fatigue and mental clarity had already been exchanged over the course of his struggle. Breathing, or whatever he was capable of, fluctuated between impossible and barely manageable.

In truth, it's quite possible that he missed his own physical reaction to the attachment of the collar; tan skin burned brown then a pale, dead gray and changed altogether, forming rippled stretches of whatever mutation this was across nearly his entire chest. He had been much more concerned about the collar itself. The click which sounded as it locked in place, and pressure he felt around his neck instantly there after. Like it had tightened to choking point, then loosening only a bit. Needles, small and thin, had all at once burst from the collar's interior in order to inject the Jedi with its toxin. A series of dangerous chemicals, widely untested for side effects, which would send the parts of his brain responsible for midi-chlorian interaction into turmoil. Air was reluctant to even attempt entry anymore, but he could only lay there.

He wasn't sure how much he'd want it anyway...

"K'et bah ch'a searoten'i,"

Such a terrible native tongue, answered only with fluttering eyes. He couldn't fathom what he'd done. What more he could accomplish to anger his captor, why the man spoke with such vile aggression. Each noise echoed and repeated, unable to watch and understand simultaneously. But he understood well enough at the sight of a syringe. Fogged eye lids raised, and fell. More sputtering, more trying. So much trying.

"Hhh gu-- nu... no... I uh'anna d-- ie--!!"

Who was he kidding, this monster of a man couldn't care less. That needle would go where it was meant to go regardless of whether it was the right thing to do. Impossible to do anything but fear for the worst, his composure was shattered into a pleading siren of illegible mumbles. Closed eyes so that he could remember everything one last time, closed tight enough to wrinkle the lids and bury the eyebrows among folds. What he felt was worse than pain, so much more detailed, as if the distraction of pain had been removed. Metal slipped under his skin, swimming like a snake through water among his first layer of fat before spitting its venom.

Energy, adrenaline, fire.

And it hadn't even gone as wrong as it could have until now. Now, when the effects of both drugs clashed together and took effect while holding hands. All at once, he felt rage pour through his veins and his connection to the force shut off altogether. A gaping breath raised his chest, or at least he had wanted to-- and it had. For the first time he had responded as intended, so another breath came. Arms and fingers raised, flexed, failed, tried again, and worked.

“What are you?”
"N-No! I can't-- you can't--!!"
“Answer me. Now.”

When first he could, his arms flew to greet his own skin, catch his chest and flail in the direction of his captor before reaching their limit against cuff and chain.

"I'm-- wha-- I'm, please stop, please!"

[member="Cryax Bane"]

 

[Cryax Bane]

Since when had a beautiful face been such a chink in his figurative armor? Wait, don’t answer that.

With his red alien eyes, the Chiss watched the young Jedi completely lose it. His naked body bucked, chest arching as the adrenaline hit his bloodstream. Quick huffs of air came in ragged gulps as his body shot up as far as the cuffs would let him. Shortly afterwards, the begging started. The young man couldn’t be more than nineteen or twenty, barely ready for an experience such as this, especially if he had been as sheltered as some of the padawans were known to be. The sound of his whimpering began to wither Bane's resolve.

Once upon a time, Cryax had lay on a table in a similar manner, a Sith Lord looming over him with a very sharp knife, his wide grin like a gash, irreparably carving him up like a Sunday roast. His blood was drained and sickeningly fed back into his body in an ancient, infernal ritual that Bane had never fully understood. The lingering Sith magic in his bloodstream began to roil, responding to the thoughts of its wielder, so he unceremoniously shut down his thoughts of Kaine. Some might say the incident had destroyed the Chiss’ entire empire, the kingdom he had built as President of the Red Ravens. Cryax would argue that his empire was made of dirt in the first place. What was indisputable was the fact that Kaine Zambrano almost ruined him forever. He asked himself: Do you want to be this young man’s Kaine Zambrano?

He sighed, and before he could change his mind, pressed the activation switch on the table, releasing the cuffs from the Jedi’s ankles and wrists. The Force suppression collar would stay.

“Shhh,” he said, rubbing a soothing hand on the young man’s shoulder, tracing a finger around the collarbone indulgently. He spoke again, this time with a less demanding tone.

“Take it easy. Try and sit up. But do it slowly. If you move too fast, you’ll make yourself sick.”

Bane’s face stirred with genuine compassion. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself on Kaine’s operating table, swinging his bare legs over the side, crumpling to the floor to kneel in front of the Emperor of Panatha who had enthralled him.

“What’s your name?”

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Core Worlds;
Corusca Sector;
Coruscant;
Lowest Levels of Happyland.

Finally that freedom came, though it didn't feel as it should have. Remotely unhinged, the cuffs popped first then dropped away. In a cruel game, he realized just how little control over his own body he really had, only able to watch as the Chiss lay his discolored hand on him again. Nejaa's chilled nerve endings became small, barely noticed obstacles before now wet fingertips. A stroke across his pectorals, arching until it outline the bones just under his neck. His torso shook in small shudders, hundreds of shallow, trembling beats.

“Take it easy. Try and sit up. But do it slowly. If you move too fast, you’ll make yourself sick.”

With a nearly muted grunt, and the harsh recoil of rapid breathing, Nejaa tried to comprehend the man's words. Really understand what it was he meant, what he needed to be doing. But he remained frozen in place, caught and shackled even without any physical bindings. Knees curled in on themselves, shins, calves, and thighs brushing over one another so as to hide himself as best he could.

“What’s your name?”

"I'm... I'm Nejaa-- Nejaa Niynx-- Please don't hurt me, I'll, I'll-- this must be some kind of mistake, I shouldn't be here..."

More heat poured from his eyes, an emotion was came only in rare moments surging through him now. An instinctual will to survive, and the forsaking of just that. Any weakness was a threat now, so Nejaa shut his eyes as tightly as possible in a ludicrous attempt to hide any emotional frailty, but the salty water streaked down his cheeks more than anything seen before. There was no happy ending playing out in the youth's mind. No alternate variation of this where he escaped, or came out alive. Any freedom offered him now could only be a taunt. Only further serve whatever sick mind he had stumbled upon. If he moved, would he die faster?

He had to try. He had to, he had to, he had to. From stillness, he burst, heaving once more and pulling himself up as far as he could manage. Whatever noise he made was more a whisper of air through his teeth, before plunging to the side altogether and all at once. Barely gifted with enough mobility, he managed to land hard against the table's edge in a splash of viscous bath. Another disgruntled push, meant to drive him straight over the edge and into the floor below. Meant to get him off the tray, from that lukewarm slime and eerie smell. From that man with the blue skin. But it failed, his chest lurching suddenly against the metal edge and finding a sharp chip of durasteel to carve deep enough for blood. His jaw was next, coming fast against metal before Nejaa simply fell back into the same place he had started-- arms wildly flying towards the suppression collar where needles had been lodged further into his neck from the blunt force. A crackling shriek, interrupted by swallowing and choking on the synthetic solvent he soaked in.

Nejaa's blood, turquoise, began to saturate with the rest, draining down in lines of silk through the grooves of his abdomen. Through sobs, he whispered sweet nothings to himself, angered and in awe of his own uselessness. Legs, beginning at the knees, bent in on each other. Shins, calves and thighs brushed together in hiding himself; his left hand pushed down as well, hovering just below his naval and then finally covering what little dignity he could scoop up. The right hand embraced his neck, wiped tears from Nejaa's eyes, and scrubbed his lips clean of the horrible taste.

"What is this... what have you done-- what're you doing to me-- why me?"

[member="Cryax Bane"]

 

[Cryax Bane]

Had it not been for his devastating combination of innocence and beauty, the utter helplessness of the young man would have been completely pathetic. When the Chiss ran the Red Ravens, snivelling worms found their foreheads on the wrong end of Bane’s nailgun, facing a swift and unsanctioned lobotomy. If Cryax had been indoctrinated with Sith code like a Force user, he might have learned how to drink the boy’s pain and toy with him like a kitten in a koi pond, but the Chiss was just an ordinary sociopath with an extraordinary mind for computing. He could not help but feel sympathy for the poor creature writhing naked on the table below him. However, in Cryax’s universe, the criminal underworld, the man with the most power “wins,” and Nejaa’s fragility both disgusted and excited him.

The moral dilemma that held him hostage began to make the Chiss slightly irritated. How naive of Nejaa to give out his name so freely. Was the boy touched in the head? Had he no survival instincts whatsoever? His face twisted with disdain, Bane reached out and slapped a blue-skinned hand across the young man’s face, a punishment for his weakness. His strike left a hot, red palm-shaped mark on Nejaa’s wet cheek.

“Stop crying,” he said, pushing out the dim memory of his own sorry blubbering on Zambrano’s stone slab. Like many in his position, the abused man had crossed the threshold to become the abuser of another. The line from victim to villain was a wiry one, and the Chiss had never had the necessary coordination for tight-rope walking.

“Get him bandaged up, will you?”

His question was barked at a Chagrian medical assistant who doubled as a security guard, and Nejaa’s wounds were shortly attended to. Gashes left by the boy's clumsy struggling were lovingly disinfected and wrapped. The turquoise blood which had dribbled from the young man’s wounds stained the table. Cryax stared at the blue fluid with an edge of intensity in his red orbs that wasn't there before.

“Why am I doing this?” He parroted the question. Again, his hand reached down and gently brushed the Jedi’s cheek in a sick fluctuation between abuse and kindness.

“I told you before. Credits. You’re here because your Jedi “parts” are valuable to a high paying Sith Lord. Or, were valuable, that is.”

Cryax extended a finger and scooped up some of Nejaa’s blood onto the tip holding it in front of the prone boy’s face. Blue on blue. “You got lucky, ch'acah.” He wiped the blood on his apron and then his hand gently tipped the boy's chin upwards to meet his questioning gaze, leveling another question at his captive. A mostly rhetorical one.

“Now tell me. What should I do with you, eh? You’re obviously valuable to someone.”

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Core Worlds;
Corusca Sector;
Coruscant;
Lowest Levels of Happyland.

Now that, that was real pain, almost like he was used to. It rotated Nejaa's head all of the way over, a second sound coming from his head against metal below it. The room spun around him, the impact seemed to swell and dissipate. Lights were so much brighter than they needed to be, even in a room absent of it. The darkness, even feint shadows, it all looked black. He could feel the fire in his veins, he could feel his heart slamming into position and shooting its contents like a jerky gun. Whatever it was, whatever had come from that impossibly long needle, it stung and, and awoke him. Feeling rushed into him like a breath blown against stale coals. His fingers first, they moved, then his arms, both of them. His heart's beat, he could feel it, all of it. The pain of hunger, and the sunken feeling his limbs now tolled. Weighted eye lids were kept open only by adamant force.

Nothing that blue devil said required an answer. Or wanted one, for that matter. Nejaa knew he had to try. With everything in him, disregard the pain of confusion, the bewilderment of someone here. Where he was. When his gaze finally leveled back out and met those awful red orbs, they were yet glassy with pools of water. But he was silent, the stutter of shaking breathing as contained as it could be. Although it was painful, his skin was no stranger to reorganizing, the red print on his face boiling and slipping back under tanned flesh. Once again a human's mimic.

“Why am I doing this?”
“I told you before. Credits. You’re here because your Jedi “parts” are valuable to a high paying Sith Lord. Or, were valuable, that is.”
“You got lucky, ch'acah.”

It was either a timid smile or gruesome snarl when the Chiss touched him again, pointer finger raising his head upwards so that his eyes were the only things visible. All the while faceless hands prodded Nejaa's new injury with rough fingers, applying sanitation, like alcohols but far less docile. These burned with a purely artificial sting, no doubt completely foreign to his skin. A hiss, not directed at either one party left Nejaa's lips, pressed tight beyond a small 'o' right at their curved center in order to allow the noise. More obviously a method of warding off these minor pains than hostility.

“Now tell me. What should I do with you, eh? You’re obviously valuable to someone.”

"Please let me live. L-Lemme go, please, you'll--"

That damned knot swelled in his throat, its subtle blade threatening tears again.
He couldn't.
"You'll never here from me again... please-- I'll, I'll--!! We ca-- I can... double, err'triple whatever I'm.. I'm... worth!?"

Nejaa was able to look him in the eyes, even when his shook in protest, and hold his gaze in earnest. "Please s-sir, please let me live-- I wanna live, really, I--" But he couldn't continue without 'earning' another strike. His weakness, in its physical form, wasn't tolerated. But it only frustrated him to try and stop the shaking, do the impossible. Control, and alter that which he had never been able to control in the past. An overpowering emotion of this nature. Hands and arms moved in rapid response, lightly groping the collar now around his neck. His skin was already sore, already probably bruising. The other hand gripped the table's edge, an iron hold quickly reddening knuckles. Muscles flexed now in a unison which hadn't previously been available. His entire arm, those along his chest, his torso. All in the span of a single breath before. Then it was gone, whispering through the eventual exhale.

"This--!? Wh-what is this, why is-- who're you? If I try and sit up... c-can I try and sit up?"

[member="Cryax Bane"]

 

[Cryax Bane]

His eyes traced the ripple on Nejaa’s cheek, the patch of cells that inexplicably reset themselves into flawless, tanned skin that begged to be touched. Bane quirked a handsome brow and tilted his head down at the young man. He was some sort of shape-shifter, Cryax presumed. Shi’do maybe? His mind continued to analyze all of the options, much like the computers he mastered. The options worth pursuing were always the ones that yielded the most credits, and shape-shifters fetched high prices at the Zygerrian slave fairs. He would be a fool to let such lucrative opportunity to line the CRC’s pockets slip through his blue fingers.

“Don’t worry, Nejaa,” he said, letting the name roll slowly off his tongue. “I’m not going to kill you. And yes, you can sit up. Here, let me help.”

Mirroring emotions he didn't actually feel, like kindness, came all too easy to Bane, just as lying was second nature.

The Chiss bent at his hips, leaning over the boy, and hooked his arms gently around Nejaa’s trembling, bare torso, hauling him up as carefully as he could, as rough treatment would only result in a vomit-covered apron. Hands indulgently caressed the young man’s skin as he felt for any abnormalities that might give away his species. One Nejaa was upright, Cryax unabashedly took a long look at him, his red eyes exploring every part of the young man's exposed body. With his perfect bone structure and innocent pout, Nejaa was a slaver’s dream come true.

“You said, ‘we’ can triple whatever you’re worth,” Cryax pointed out as he stood possibly too close for comfort. “Who is this we? Are there many looking for you, Nejaa?”

The Chiss' voice had switched back to the gentle tone of a benevolent ally, one who helped him sit up and had his wounds cleaned and dressed, and hadn’t just smacked his face a few minutes prior.

As Nejaa was about to answer, he turned to one of the CRC orderlies and barked in a passionless tone. “Get the kid some clothing.”

Bane ignored the inquiry about his name. Apparently his captive didn’t watch many Holo-news channels. Ah well, the boy would likely learn it soon enough.

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Core Worlds;
Corusca Sector;
Coruscant;
Lowest Levels of Happyland.

“Don’t worry, Nejaa.”
“I’m not going to kill you. And yes, you can sit up. Here, let me help.”

It was haunting, the warmth of that other body. The sheer proximity to someone who was about to split you apart with scalpels minutes ago. Each blue arm wrapped out and around him, Nejaa's body shivering down to as small as it could be. Sure, it was better than abuse, though it only served as a source of suspense. In the minds of the criminally insane, there was no real stability. Their eyes seemed incapable of separating for overdone seconds, his studying and Nejaa's flickering. Torso rising, Nejaa could feel his weight again. His body. Even holding up his head required muscles which had been temporarily thrown out of commission. Their faces were close, skin was close, the breathing almost felt against the other's face. A lower tone, matured vocal chords resonating in deep vibrations. This man had a scent, subtle enough to remain illusive, but something of cinnamon and spice, somehow clean.

"Huh--? Thanks?"

“You said, ‘we’ can triple whatever you’re worth.”
“Who is this we? Are there many looking for you, Nejaa?”

Survival had never once left Nejaa's mental space. Even in the time between breaths, his mind pulsated with any option to live. Tried to calculate the best option, debating between far too many to concentrate, and too diluted by fear to function normally. The feeling of this man helping. Feeling him in such a vulnerable stage, fingers tracing Nejaa's exposed flesh and making note of its consistency. Inflicting pain only to switch and pick him back up again. Hit him, then tell him not to cry. There was no reason with him, nothing the youth could use in logic to save himself here. He couldn't rely on, well, nothing. Couldn't just trust that he would just be alright. His hands coiled, fingers flexing against the metal in resistance of the urge to crush the Chiss' head against the flat of his knee.

“Get the kid some clothing.”

He had only his will. At the entrance, there were two verpine guards, then the third security detail who his captor had just sent off in search of clothing. Then of course, the blue one. Cryax whirled round, shooting the command with a cold sternness. A tone not present in his words towards Nejaa, pointing hands dictating his command of the area. Adrenaline still pumped, blood with it, rage and fear mixing to make quite the cocktail. Lips pulled tight, and thought seemed to shake his head, the idea of moving, taking charge, really risking his life-- it was impossible to imagine making the first move.

So he took a breath. Released it. And just did it. His enemy, the devil, was turned away so that his back befell Nejaa when it happened. Pushing hard with his left arm, Nejaa spun and sent a powerful albeit clumsy kick straight into the center of Bane's back. As trained, and as practiced in obsession for years, an extended heel dug deep against the back bone's numerous, fragile pieces. The other leg would come next, a second, almost instant follow up spinning towards the alien's ribs.

It felt empty. His movements were without guidance, without the pressure and power of the force. Without it, he was at the calibre of any other small boy. Made threatening only in his experience. A concentrated shout of effort left Nejaa's throat as he launched the assault, the sound swelling his neck until it hurt against the needles which dug into him. When feet hit ground, they did so without much confidence, shifting and hopping before attaining any real solidarity. One hand grasped his stomach and each breath was loud enough to sound painful. He didn't have a moment to spare, one step forward and a powerful thrust with the free hand, opened palm tightening into tendons.

In the place of flame came only a crude second-awakening. His body recoiled, vibrated and weakened. Knees locked, and his eyes began to roll back. He felt it, something, bubbling up from inside of him. His head, it pounded, streaks of sharp pain crippling him towards the ground again. He head meant to consume the room in fire, destroy any and all remnants of this horrible plague to society. Instead, only a screeching silence. A sealed fate. A second hand made the same attempt, disbelief clouding his judgement, but the result only crumpled him further. His knees hit hard ground, hands bracing him as his stomach heaved. Coughing up acidic liquids from his own digestive system. Long filters of foamed saliva. His whole body pushed it out, powerless to the motion of push and push from his gut. Vomit's unfortunate grasp over the victim.

Two hands, both at the same time, gripped the collar around his neck, this time timid to make adjustments. Its poison was unbearable, ruining Nejaa with tormenting pain upon trying to interact with his natural ally; the force. "Oh god, wha--" But he was interrupted by another request for submission, bending him over to the floor so that he could spit up and dry heave. "--What is this, get this off of mm--!" Nejaa couldn't make it through a sentence without fulfilling his stomach's demands. "I'm... I'm..." an open palm stretched out, offering a second defeat, but Nejaa decided against it and pushed himself into standing once more. Without a doubt, he was weak enough even for Cryax to subdue him, if that were his goal. The boy's face was lit aglow by some kind of flame, eyes lashing out against his captors in a powerless desperation.

"The Jedi, the, the... the Council, I'm sure they're already looking for me... you can't... you can't keep me here forever..."

[member="Cryax Bane"]

 

[Cryax Bane]

Cryax had obviously underestimated Nejaa’s frailty. As Nejaa’s bare heel landed smack in the middle of his lower back, causing a burst of hot pain through his spin. The Chiss toppled over, cursing in Cheunh as he careened to the side landing on his elbows. The boy’s first kick packed a wallop, and the second kick was even worse as it dug right into his exposed ribs. Incensed, Bane whipped his head around, an animal snarl on his lips.

“Why you little…”

His fists poised to strike, the Chiss stopped short once he saw the boy on his hands and knees, a stream of his own bile hanging from his mouth as Nejaa retched helplessly on the floor in the throes of a Norbutal comedown. A smirk crossed his lips as the boy emptied out his stomach. With wary eyes, Cryax watched his trembling captive rise. The young Jedi began to pull at the collar around his neck with one hand, the other trying in vain to conceal his nudity.

As he began to witter on about the Jedi council, that was when the Chiss struck.

As quick as a snake, Bane sprang to his feet and roughly grabbed a fistful of dark hair in one hand, yanking violently. The other hand dug into Nejaa’s shoulder and he used both to whirl the boy around so that the young man was facing away from him. Using the weight of his torso and legs, he pinned the Jedi against the table surface, and lowered his head so that his cheek pressed against the cold wet surface. Cryax pressed against him, letting his body weight hold Nejaa in place as he bent to place his face next to the other man’s cheek, his hot breath in the boy’s ear.

“Trust me, you don’t want to do that again. I can be your friend or I can be your enemy, Nejaa. Which one is it going to be, eh?”

Still holding him in place the Chiss nodded a signal to his staff. A hidden gesture was made behind the Jedi’s back. Soon one of the orderlies left the room and returned with another syringe. He jabbed it in the boy’s arm and soon Nejaa would feel both gravity and darkness pull his body down and his consicousness under as the strong sedative knocked him out cold.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When he awoke, Nejaa would find himself in the bedroom of an expensively decorated luxury penthouse apartment that had to be a thousand stories over the city, with majestic views of the Coruscant skyline. He was still unclothed, but covered in lush bedsheets. He would definitely feel the same Force suppression collar, but he also might feel a slight nagging pain at the nape of his neck, and if he felt along the skin, he would find an almost imperceptible ridge of scarring, marking the place where a kill chip had been surgically implanted.

“How did you sleep?” said Bane, in a voice that might have startled anyone awake. The Chiss tapped on his Datapad in a nearby chair, his blood red eyes engrossed in whatever was onscreen.

The cell might have been prettier than the morgue, but as the sleep faded from his eyes, Nejaa would find that he was still imprisoned by the same blue-skinned captor.

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Core Worlds;
Corusca Sector;
Coruscant;
Lowest Levels of Happyland.

“Why you little…”

He had no defense against it. Any of it. He was a Jedi, and yet useless to stop his captor's assault, blue fingers yanking at his hair and another pincer-like-grip against his shoulder. Nejaa's yelp was interrupted by a bubbling from within, and he was sentenced to a silent descent against that familiar metal. A wet sound accompanied the thud of his skull against a material much harder than itself. His own arms tried awkwardly to provide some kind of support, but were quickly deemed useless and only suited for resting on the same surface as the rest of his body. There wasn't a method of escape, his vision, his physical coordination, it was all ruined. Whimpering, a new fear licking at him, Nejaa's grunt was stopped before it started. Not by speech, not yet, but by the forceful weight of he who had just been attacked. That nameless man who insisted that he be the ruling body.

“Trust me, you don’t want to do that again. I can be your friend or I can be your enemy, Nejaa. Which one is it going to be, eh?”
"Okayokay--!!" "Friends, let's be friends-- oh god please--!!"

His hands raised as if he had been arrested, pivoting against cold durasteel with his elbows. Jerky pressure fell against him when he moved, assurance no doubt, the grating pressing against his empty stomach. He could feel it coming again, that merciless bile which moved like slugs up his throat, choking out air or oxygen and swelling him from within.

"P-Please-- we can be friends, I'm... I'm a good--"

A needle, without any kind of warning, slammed through his arm. Entering deep and peeling him apart. Almost instantly, though in a way which made it hard to notice, darkness began to claim him. Eye lids raised high, then fell low, and he slumped altogether. He finished between a newly released web of tears, no longer able to be held back...

"I'm... a good... friend..."

Core Worlds;
Corusca Sector;
Coruscant;
Cell of Cryax.

When he woke, he did so suddenly, and in a frenzy. Arising, one arm swinging as if deflecting something which didn't exist. Something which might have existed in whatever mental realm he had just been banished to wandering under Cryax's drug's effects. Sickness took him soon after, but those eyes remained open. He was somewhere else, somewhere very different. Coruscant--!! He was on Coruscant. And he was here.

“How did you sleep?”
"No... no, this isn't supposed to... where am I-- where've you taken me?"

It took the boy another minute to realize his own nudity, again, though this time covered by raised and wrinkled fabrics. "You said," he began only to cease. It was clear they weren't friends. It was clear they were nothing like friends, and never would be. He took a moment, lifting the sheets to inspect what exactly he had been given. Nothing. Only a new, additional, sore and deeply rooted discomfort at the base of his neck, something in addition to what horrible sensation the collar provoked. It was still there, his left hand confirmed what his eyes couldn't properly see, pulling against it without irritating the thin teeth which ate into him.

[member="Cryax Bane"]

 

[Cryax Bane]

Instead of answering right away, Cryax flicked off his Datapad and arose from his seat, stopping at the entranceway of the bedroom in which he held his prize. He lifted a glowing red eye to the retinal security scanner and the door opened with a hiss. Two Mirari bodyguard droids clanked into the room and stood on either side of the doorway like sentinels. The metal soldiers’ blank glowing eyes, not unlike the unreadable orbs of the Chiss’ himself, stared straight at the captive, watching his every move. The droids were obviously sticking around for the long haul. Bane exited the room briefly and then returned with a box of takeout Fodu noodles from a nearby Melanese restaurant, a pair of wooden chopsticks, and some water. The food and drink was set on the nightstand next to Nejaa. Occupying the chair once again, Cryax leaned forward on his elbows and looked at the waking young man.

Now that he was bathed the natural light of Bane’s apartment at the Cream and the Crop casino, and not the flickering fluorescent greys and greens of the Happyland Morgue, the Jedi looked radiantly angelic. He possessed the kind of devastating beauty that begged a person to play either savior or destroyer. Bane had no idea which he himself wanted to be.

“My name is Cryax Bane,” he finally said after a long, deep breath, then gestured out the window at the breathtaking view of the gleaming Coruscanti spires of Galactic City. “You’re obviously on Coruscant.” He paused and added another phrase for a more dramatic effect. “Sith territory.” He let that sink in for a bit. A blue-skinned hand pointed at the collar that hung around the young man's slender neck.

“You’re wearing a Force suppression collar for my protection,” he explained. “If you try to use the Force, the collar will make you sick. So don’t.”

He didn’t mention the kill chip. That detail would be revealed only when necessary.

Ratcheting up his a practiced, alluring grin that was cocked in just the right places, the Chiss nodded his head, indicating the nearby takeout container.

“Go ahead and eat. You’re probably starving.”

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Core Worlds;
Corusca Sector;
Coruscant;
Cell of Cryax.

This was better than dead, for the time being. Nejaa was able to breathe, at the cost of pain, and light seemed to put a foreign strain to his eyes. In truth, he hadn't been to Coruscant since its take over. Once, it had been his home world, the home world of the Jedi Temple, and his place of childhood. Its skyline, regardless of who ruled the planet, looked more or less the same. Clouds billowed around the edges of vision, and long lines of architecture gave everything a man-made feeling. In fact, organic life of any kind was extremely rare on the planet, barring sentient species and their pets. Plant growth, nature, it had long since been crushed under permacrete and metals. When he thought about it, it should belong to the Sith.

That slimy f*cker only gave him silence. As if he hadn't even heard Nejaa speaking. Without a pupil to track in those crimson eyes, it was impossible to see just what he was looking at. Was he looking Nejaa in the eyes as he should? Or did he look at all of him, that's what it felt like. It took breath from his chest, falling into concave and pulling the sheets slowly over himself, up, hiding himself behind it.

"Hey!"

Didn't matter, Bane opened the door and left. Replaced by droids. Things build for killing, spider like in their design. Now he was the only one in the room without that same, blank stare. Of course he thought about changing that, he could. Could invert the color of skin, make everything blue, remove the features in his eyes and re design them to match even the Chiss' before him. He almost wanted to, and what would that scum retaliate with?

No, his guise was needed.
Comfortable, for now.

"Hey! Where are you going, I asked you a question!"

No answer, not until he returned with food. The smell of the stuff was like something out of a dream and instantly his stomach screamed in response. But he couldn't move, didn't touch it. Only gave it a skeptical look and fell further into backwards, leaning against outstretched arms like kickstands.

“My name is Cryax Bane.”
“You’re obviously on Coruscant.”
“Sith territory.”

He didn't- couldn't make any kind of response. There was nothing he could say, no defense to be erected for the defeated world. And he was still trapped, regardless of the silk's smooth sensation against bare legs. Nothing about a bed changed that. His knuckles grew tight, fingers crushing the sheets in withdrawn anger.

“You’re wearing a Force suppression collar for my protection.”
“If you try to use the Force, the collar will make you sick. So don’t.”

Nejaa's lips curled and the tips of white teeth poked their heads out. Though, somewhere in the back of his head he couldn't help but be glad to hear the word 'suppression.' It just, well, it didn't sound permanent. Nostrils flared, eyes softening only for a second in relief. Even a glimpse of hope was enough to hold onto, so long as it remained and payment was tolerable.

“Go ahead and eat. You’re probably starving.”
"... How do I know you haven't poisoned it, or... or, I don't know, drugged it!"

He did give it another look in earnest, but didn't move towards it. Even under the oppressive emptiness of his stomach and against the demands of his body. "I just woke up," Nejaa began under his breath. "An' why're you giving me food? I was, just... you had me on a morgue table! You- you were holding a, a," his hand shook in compensation of a fogged memory. "A scalpel. What," dropping the sheets so that they spread out along his hips, his fingers investigated his belly, applying pressure against abdominals.

"What in the hell were you trying to get out of me? What sick- there are other ways to get credits, wh- why... this?"

[member="Cryax Bane"]

 

[Cryax Bane]

Bane didn’t need a Jedi’s Force sensitivity to detect the anger in the room that simmered off the boy as the gravity of his predicament finally sunk in. He was suddenly a burst of white knuckles and clenched teeth and pure outrage. With a cool detachment, the Chiss watched all of the young man’s emotions unfold. He was talkative and demanding answers, answers that Bane couldn't or wouldn't reward him. Bane would never admit it, but he hadn't figured out exactly why he hadn't killed the young man, although he suspected it had everything to do with his long eyelashes or the way the small of his back curved as if it was made for his hands to rest there. Cryax Bane was a sucker for a pretty face. Not to mention a gorgeous physique. In those two categories, the Jedi had achieved perfection, which reminded him of those enigmatic quirks he’d noticed back at the morgue. Blue turquoise blood and ripples of scaly patches scratched at the back of his mind. The man was product. An exotic creature to sell to the highest bidder. Don’t get too attached.

Instead of answering questions that he knew Nejaa wouldn't like the answer to anyway, Cryax deflected them. Crossing to the box of takeout, he picked up the chopsticks and took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. Then, he placed the box right next to the boy’s hips on the bed.

“See? Not drugged. Eat, Nejaa. I know you’re hungry. And thirsty.” He glanced down at his chrono.

“In a little while the drugs will be out of your system and I can offer you something stronger to drink. To help you relax.”

His glowing red eyes blinked at the boy as Cryax took a seat on the edge of the bed. Not too close to invade his personal space, but close enough for him to flash a set of perfect white teeth and flawless cleanly-shaven blue skin. Close enough for the young man to smell imported cologne with the type of notes only the rich could afford. Close enough for body heat to linger. He ran his fingers through his blue black hair and then cocked his head at the boy.

“Nejaa, are you a shapeshifter?”

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Core Worlds;
Corusca Sector;
Coruscant;
Cell of Cryax.

“See? Not drugged. Eat, Nejaa. I know you’re hungry. And thirsty.”


There wasn't much arguing with that. The food shouldn't kill him, only prolong whatever odd limbo he had apparently fallen into. Although his eyes remained skeptical for another moment or two, he eventually broke, grabbed the food and positioned himself against the bed frame. It was as if he had never eaten before, barely chewing with every bite and gulping down oceans of water at a time. It was rare that his eyes fell though, always pinned on the devil and his droids. Always wary of movements.

“In a little while the drugs will be out of your system and I can offer you something stronger to drink. To help you relax.”


The Jedi wasn't fooled. His time frame wasn't clear, he didn't even know how long he'd been asleep, how long he'd been away from Kashyyyk. Where Torin was or if he was still alive. He could only hope the council would come for him, though he wasn't going to start holding his breath yet. In fact, he thought to himself, they'd probably just thank the scum taking care of their problem child and move along.

"I don't drink anything strong."

Nejaa actually jumped a bit when Cryax began moving again, the Jedi's eyes primitive in their studious trace over Bane's movement. Clearing his throat and swallowing everything nervously, Nejaa put the food down and let whatever was left slide down his throat. The muscles in his jaw clenched, and teeth ground together in a nervous scrub.

“Nejaa, are you a shapeshifter?”


Ears retreated backwards at the question, and Nejaa averted his eyes, but he said nothing. Without really looking, he reached for the water, making a failed grab before actually reaching the it- all the while sustaining that trained focus on what was important. Who was important. But this time he didn't answer, eyes falling dramatically to the side and his head turning with them. His defiance was subtle but obvious, choosing only to drain whatever was left of the water in place of answering to a man who so badly wanted to be called master. When finished, his eyes drug back across Cryax, and he placed the glass, on its side, just to his left. Like it might later serve some purpose there.

"Who knows, you're asking the wrong guy-- what'd you want out of me on that table?"

Finishing the last of the noodles and shrugging, Nejaa removed the chopsticks and tossed the box toward Cryax. Certainly not with enough power to hit him, but enough to send it toppling onto the bed, empty, though a disrespectful gesture regardless. The chopsticks he kept in his right hand, both of them held in the same backwards direction like a makeshift dagger. He didn't need to say anything to make his intentions clear. All he was doing was keeping what was given him, but it might remind his captor that, force sensitive or not, Nejaa was a Jedi. Nejaa's body was tense, the muscles all coming together so as to create a puzzle with anatomy along his torso.

[member="Cryax Bane"]

 

[Cryax Bane]

Bane watched the boy wolf down his food, red eyes glinting like a hungry predator, fattening his prey for the kill. Despite his cruel intentions, the Chiss continued to force his own lips into a warm smile. The Jedi avoided his question about his species with the skittishness of someone with much to hide. There was no doubt. Nejaa was some kind of shifter. Soon, Cryax would peruse the invisible market to find out the amount of credits the slave fairs paid for them. But now, he needed to wrest the defiance from him somehow. It would make both of their roles easier in the long run.

Nejaa seemed naive enough to fall for a big, fat lie. That he could easily provide without a second thought. Cryax inspected his own fingernails as he spoke, careful not to make eye contact in case Nejaa was adept at reading tells or body language.

“I know how this sounds, but I work for the Sith. I procure organs and body parts for them.” The handsome young Chiss gave the boy a tight-lipped smirk, an expression that was full of phony regret.

“It’s not my choice. They’re extorting me. If I don’t work for them, or try to leave Coruscant...” He hung his head, blue black hair falling in a curtain around his face. If he had the capacity to cry crocodile tears, he might shed a few here, but he didn't want to lay it on too thick. “....they have promised to kill my family.”

Whether or not Nejaa would buy it remained to be seen. There were holes to be poked. Cryax had a very expensively decorated apartment for a man who was being extorted, and was surrounded by staff and security droids. The Jedi seemed to too much of an innocent hayseed to put two-and-two together. He very much liked that about his captive.

With a smirk, Bane carefully righted the takeout box, then leaned forward and snatched the chopsticks out of the boy’s hands.

“You going to stab me with your sticks?” he scoffed. “Look, like I told you. I want to be your friend. I have Sith infochants watching me and if they see you, well, you know what happens to Jedi who are captured by the Sith.”

They get delivered to people like Cryax Bane.

“Trust me, it’s much safer for you here.”

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Core Worlds;
Corusca Sector;
Coruscant;
Cell of Cryax.

“I know how this sounds, but I work for the Sith. I procure organs and body parts for them.”

Just being able to say that, being able to hear yourself saying that, it was something Nejaa couldn't quite fathom. How could someone just do that. Literally steal from the bodies of others. Kill them, or mangle them, freeze them and lay them out on a table like food. Wrinkles of a hiss littered the bridge of Nejaa's nose, perhaps much more a characteristic of clawdite socialization than human.

“It’s not my choice. They’re extorting me. If I don’t work for them, or try to leave Coruscant...”
“....they have promised to kill my family.”

Oh please. Nejaa's eyes, for a moment showed signs of consideration. Like he was actually throwing it into the group of possibilities. But that was a fleeting second at the most, then they were back set on his enemy, the edges of his mouth yet animated into something subtly carnal. He didn't grunt really, it was more just a blast of air, dramatized exhale, but the movements in his eyes said enough.

"Hah! Is that what they told you to say?"

Cryax lifted himself, eyes set on the sticks Nejaa held now like a weapon. His snarl dropped, and became a nervous grin, but it didn't deter the Chiss from approaching. He went for the sticks, fool, Nejaa could give those up. His hand relinquished the makeshift tools easily, eyes locked on Bane's own the whole time. He came so close with such trust.

“You going to stab me with your sticks?”
"Gunna try and talk me out of it?"
“Look, like I told you. I want to be your friend. I have Sith infochants watching me and if they see you, well, you know what happens to Jedi who are captured by the Sith. Trust me, it’s much safer for you here.”

"Yeah right," Nejaa fired off quickly. "You must be used to working with pretty dumb people, sith. Who're you trying to fool!?" The skin on his face began to move, become red and raise until a hand print was visible upon it. Almost exactly as it had been when last Cryax beat him.

"You're not just following orders, I'm no idiot."

[member="Cryax Bane"]