"I could snap your neck."

"I could lift you in the air with nothing but a glance, with a flick of my fingers, bend your face to meet your shoulder. Twist your spine and rip it from your brain. Pull your heart from your body and squeeze it, bleed it dry."

"I can."

"And then I would run from here, and take over the galaxy again."

"They would all feel my vengence."

"All of them."

"I can."

"But I don't."

The man across the table nodded.

"Good."

The other, ragged man sighed, and nodded himself.

"How do you feel?"

"Better. The fevers are gone. I retain the nightmares, but I am able to attain inner peace. Eventually... the voices fade."

"And... how do you feel, right now?"

"Calm... peaceful... focused, on doing good. I want to... to repent and repay for the things I did. For the people's lives I effected."

"That's a good goal. Tell me... tell me about the nightmares again."

The man slumped slightly, exhaling before he looked back up.

"I'd... rather not."

"It helps, to talk about these things."

"I know... it's..."

The other man took a sip of water.

"It's all right. If you're uncomfortable, we can move on."

"Thank you, doctor. You know... I was wondering... when you spoke about maybe letting me... out to get some fresh air. I think... I think I'm ready for an escorted trip. It's been such a long time since I saw the sun and... breathed fresh, natural air. I won't try and escape... I have accepted what I've done, and... I think I'm prepared to serve whatever punishment is deemed appropriate but... it's been over two years. I've had only you to talk to and... only the cell, this room, and the halls in between to look at... and it's so dark in there..."

The doctor sighed.

"I understand how you feel. But, I think that it would be best to wait until next month. I'm behind you of course... but there are concerns from the council that the Dark Side can touch you once you leave these walls."

"I can resist it."

But the doctor had none. The conversation was over, and, as per usual, the ragged man was dragged back to his cell. Once at the door, he was stripped and the door was closed behind him. As the shutter slid shut, and the light dissapeared from his cell, the ragged prisoner sighed, and called again for the force, and again, it did not answer. He curled his legs to his chest, and began to cry.

The drip is all I have, really.

The only constant in my life.

I suppose besides food, which I take for granted somewhat. I don't suppose they need to feed me at all.

And our good friend the doctor of course. But he's too sparse for me to make sure he's constant in his timing.

But the drip is always constant.

Drip.

Did you hear that? Listen.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

The drip always comes in pairs. A drop of water breaking on the puddle, and the subsequent drops landing in the puddle. If it were not for the drip, I would have no way of knowing how long I have spent here, naked, dirty, broken.

I have been imprisoned now for 71539834 seconds. Give or take about twenty minutes.

Drip, drip.

Every so often, I write a number on the wall using blood. Eventually though they threatened me with food stoppages if I continued to slame my head against the wall. I did at first smash my head with greater frequency, and then they sent the doctor. He explained that the less nutrition I got, combined with that increase in blood loss, would eventually compound and I would get sick. I would dehydrate, get diahreah, and fevers. Took two years without food to happen but he was right, and over a month I have gone without writing the date. The fevers have subsided, and I'm gaining weight again.

The doctor was amazed, he said, I had gone two years without food. I wasn't. I could have gone another two years if it weren't for keeping the time. The doctor said he had tried to feed me but the guards said I was being disruptive. I was, and I told him his welfare was not my responsibility. He said that it was... that my welfare was his job.

I have a visitor today.

"Andrew. How are you?"

"I wish you wouldn't come in here and not turn on the lights."

"They tell me you've grown sensitive to light. That... it hurts your eyes."

"The reason is the compounded darkness. If they gave me light, it would help."

"The light is on, Andrew. You need to open your eyes."

I do. He's right... my eyes have become sensitive to light.

"That's a new scar."

"Courtesy of this Yang character. Master with the blade."

"What's the story now?"

"Corellia."

"So far into the core?"

"We're losing the war without you, Andrew. The lightside needs you."

"Then set me free."

"You know, I keep trying. It's Xylon. He's blinded by prejudice. He think's you betrayed us."

"Please..."

I hear the drip again, something I hadn't heard since the beginning of his visit.

"Andrew, you know I'm not real. Why do you continue to bring me here?"

The light begins to fade.

"Let go."

Enough. I slam my head against the wall, and taste the sweetness of my blood.

"We asked you to stop doing that."

"I know. But he was annoying me."

"Who as annoying you?"

"Jiren. He came in and then lied to me."

"Andrew, Gash Jiren did not come to visit you."

"Yes he did. He came in here and told me about Corellia. It fell to the TNSO/TRE/TNO alliance."

"Andrew, there is no TNO/TNSO/TRE alliance. TRE broke that alliance at Dantooine and attacked Jaminere. TNSO, as far as we know, has dissapeared. And Corellia is still in the New Repuublic. You were hallucinating."

"He was here."

"No... no, he wasn't."

I shook my head, drawing my knees ever closer to my chin.

"Andrew... we're doing all we can for you. But... you're slipping. You won't let us help you. You continue to hold on to fiction, and reject our offerings of assistance. And whats more, you become disruptive every once in a while and outright defy us."

I slam my head into the wall. The material concedes, and cracks on impact. Shards of it stick to the side of my skull, and my hair dampens with blood.

"We're trying to help you."

I slam it again. The darkness contorts, telling me I have a concussion. A swelling begins to form on the side of my head, and the bleeding worsens. I feel drops of blood spill down my face.

"Fine. I try and take you in and you push me away. You will go a month without food for every time you slam your head against that wall."

I slam it again. And once more.

"Andrew... let us help you..."

I slam it again. The door closes, and the doctor leaves. I survey my damage... about 6 cuts, a massive swelling, and a concussion. Not too bad. The wall fared worse. I make another mark... one more day.

"Hello Ahnk."

I look through the haze and darkness to find no one.

"My... name... is Andrew."

"To you, perhaps. But you're still a Sith to me."

"I... change..."

"No, you didn't. I don't believe that. No one believes that. It's all a ruse."

"No... try..."

"Trying to fool us I think. Into letting you gain access, even trust. Turn our backs maybe. We're not as naive as that and that is why you are here."

"Why... you... come..."

"I came to bring you a present. After all, today marks the the 111th aniversary of your birth... your original birth, anyway."

"Really... I... lost... track..."

"I brought you a present."

"A... present..."

"Open your eyes."

He stood there, in his arrogant glory, enlongated face and nimble, three fingered hands, holding a box, with bow and ribbon.

"Go ahead, open it."

I took it and pulled off the bow. I tore off the wrapping paper, and pulled open the black metal box. Inside was my single-bladed saber, the one I had constructed during my Sith training. The one Hexadragon had broken on the Jehova.

"Im... poss..."

"No... I didn't break it. It was just a little bent. Here, take it. Fire it up."

"No... it is... wea... pon of... evil..."

"No. The evil is in it's user. You are the evil one. The weapon... is just a weapon."

"Go... away..."

"No, I don't think so. I want to see you use that saber. Feel the darkside fill you again as you kill scientist after scientist."

"No... I've... repent..."

"Oh, feed that line of excrement to someone else. I know your nature. You will never again be of the lightside."

"You... don't... know me..."

"Oh, I know you. I come from in there, that battered, ragged head of yours. I know who you truly are. You're evil, sick, violent... you can't wait to be free, to kill everyone, to make them pay..."

"Leave... me... alone..."

The darkness returns. I slam my head against the wall, and go to sleep.

He hung there, suspended in a tube of frozen bacta, silent. For once in his life, peaceful.

Gash chuckled at that. For the first time in all of this man's life, he was at peace; the time at which control had been wrested from him. His betrayal at Dantooine was not easily forgotten; indeed, it had precipidated his current imprisonment. If it could really be called that; Andrew was being kept from the world as much it was being kept from him. And as much as he was being kept from himself.

The deep scar across his stomach had healed long ago, easily rememdied by these treatments within the cryonic freeze. Andrew had been critically wounded -- either by Organa Solo or Xylon Hexyra, though just who had been lost amidst the chaos -- and placed immediately into stasus by none other than Gash Jiren himself, who, despite his rage and indignation, had found some kind of compassion for the man who's plight was so similar to his own.

The time had been short, and Ahnk's -- Andrew's -- wounds severe. As life had begun to flee the former Sith's fevered form after the return to Corellia, Gash had feared that no hope could be found for the man. Yet, medical professionals offered one choice that might halt the decay of the man's health until he could be remedied. Jiren had signed the forms permitting cryogenic freezing quickly, and Andrew had been inserted.

The healing properties of bacta protected his body while it was exposed to extreme cold, enough to halt his body functions and central nervous system. The surgery within the icy incasing had been quick and easy with the victim stabalized, and they were prepared to set the man free.

Of course, until a New Republic mandate interfered.

The mandate from the highest reaches of the Republic's government had labelled Ahnk a traitor, a criminal, responsible for hundreds of deaths aboard the Jenova and chaos all about the Republic and beyond. While no court verdict could mandate cryogenic freezing, so long as the offender was already in stasis... the vote had been easy, and unanimous.

Gash had visited Andrew once every month, or so, if only to be updated upon his status.

And now, it could end.

Xylon Hexyra was dead; the New Republic's position of Supreme Military Chancellor had fallen to Gash Jiren. With enough power and political sway to twist political forces to his will, Gash had easily secured Andrew's release warrant. He could, at last, be freed from his icy prison, one hundred meters below the surface of Corellia.

Or, Gash had hoped he could.

'Ah, Chancellor Jiren,' The scientist who ran the cryogenic freezing chambers said, smiling slightly. 'I see you have come to check up on the patient. He is as he was, still accumulating memory chemicals far too quickly.'

"How quickly?"

The scientist shrugged. 'It's hard to describe. In his mind, he seems to have accumulated almost three years of memories.'

"In one year."

'Yes.'

Gash sighed a moment, unsure. He glanced at the motionless form of Andrew one more time, before producing a small datacard from the pocket of his dark navy pocket. "I haven't come to check upon him. I've come to take him out of here."

'I... see.' The scientist accepted the datachip, trusting Jiren not to be lying. 'There could be a problem with that.'

"What?"

'Well, as I said, he's accumulating memory three times faster than the rate he would in the real world. Given that the brain activity of normal subjects immediately ceases upon freezing, and this is the first instance of any accumulation at all, I can only assume that the cells in his brain are interacting with one another through the Force, without moving.'

Gash frowned. "I don't understand."

'He seems to be experiencing some delusion in the Force. Each time you approach him, he can sense your presence in the Force; his memory accumulation slows down -- not to a normal level, or anywhere near, but enough so that I assume it occurs that you might enter that delusion and not remain for a week by standing here for a minute. So, the key to this is within the Force.'

"So why can't you unfreeze him?" Gash said, growing quickly preterbed.

'He is living through the Force. Living at an accelerated rate. A reversion to a normal timerate would be fatal to his mind. It wouldn't be able to adjust... it would tear itself apart, or shut down, or drive him insane.'

Gash's eyes narrowed, but he remained silent. "You could bring him out if his mind stopped generating delusions?"

'Of course. But I doubt it'll do it on it's own -- it has been doing it for a year, now. Three, in his time.'

"You said his delusion slows with my presence?"

'...yes.' The doctor responded, seemingly preterbed at Gash's inattentiveness to the facts. Another Jedi Master, thinking he could do whatever he damn well pleased.

"Then I'll link with him."

'Link?'

"Through the Force."

The doctor sighed again. 'You might die. When you break the link, it could kill you for the same reason it would kill him; your mental impulses will likely be sped up to keep up with Rashanagok's. Once you link... if you fail, you're dead.'

Gash shrugged. "I've dealt with worse odds. Stand away." He closed his eyes, willing himself into Andrew's mind, into his 'delusion'...

"It's about time you came."

"Indeed. I've been busy."

"Scheming the downfall of the New Republic no doubt."

"Ha. You know me so well old friend."

"So, Chang, what happened, at Dantooine? One minute I was a hero, and the next, a traitor."

"So hard to say. I had gone to Jaminere, to fight the Yuuzhan Vong. As best I can tell, Exel and Emily were detirmined to join the Remnant."

"So they attacked us?"

"Yes."

I push my back up against the cold wall.

"I forgive you, Xylon. It's not your fault."

"Your sentence is almost done."

"Is it?"

"A few more hours, at most."

"Emily you say? She was on the Home Ship?"

"Yes."

"And the ex..."

"Her fluidic DNA would have protected her from the vaccum. My guess is that she formed a cacoon and made a landing on Dantooine."

"She's pregnant, you know."

"What?"

"Yes, she's preganant."

"When..."

"Before I left for Naboo."

"Which means..."

"She's not pregnant anymore."

"And..."

"Yes."

"Well... this is certainly big news."

I let out a groan.

"We'll need to kill her you know. And her child."

"I want no part of that."

"I will handle it."

A guard opened the door.

"Time's up."

Chang nodded at me, and left. I went back to sleep.

The apparition nodded to Gash, smiling slightly. She seemed to know him -- not suprisingly. Everything around had been taken from Andrew's memories; the people, the location. Somehow, he'd created a complete world in his mind; it wasn't incomplete or unrealistic, or filled with metaphorical imagery. For all intents and purposes, speaking from his major in medicine and minor in psychology, the world was simply that -- a world. A mental ward of a prison.

This section was made of white, ceramic tile, a calming color. Beyond the door nearest to Jiren, the cells seemed to be made of hard stone, however. That made Gash take his thought about the metaphorical imagery back. The world may be perfect, but it was obviously metaphorical; the rooms in mental wards were all made of soothing colors, bearing no resemblance to a prison, as this place did. Andrew clearly believed himself "imprisoned" -- a victim of circumstances.

Which would lead one to believe he wasn't responsible for Dantooine.

"Might I see the patient Andrew Rashanagok?" Gash asked the woman, seemingly a nurse.

'Certainly,' She said, smiling and nodding. For a moment, she raised an eyebrow, though. 'He claims that you've been visiting him, though you haven't. Be careful.'

Gash smiled. "Thank you for your concern, but I'll be alright."

She nodded, and motioned toward the huge durasteel doors. Gash followed, reaching for one of the handles -- and stopping. There was a piece of art on the wall.

A picture Sith Infiltrator. Like those used by the apprentices of Palpatine -- and yet, this one was red. An angry, violent red, the color of blood. Andrew was angry at the Sith, and the forces of Darkness; he felt he'd been abandoned, betrayed, as the Sith Infiltrator sat on a black background, all alone.

Jiren opened the door, and a guard stepped away from the stone wall, and approached him. What seemed to be a Yuuzhan Vong swept by the two of them, scoffing at Gash. He recognized him, from "Ahnk's" visit to Yavin 4. General Chang. "Which cell is Andrew's?" Gash asked the guard.

'631-B.' The man responded, pointing to one of the iron doors on the stone walls. Gash nodded, thanking him.

Without a second thought, he opened the door, striding slowly into the room. "Hello, Andrew. Are you ready to go home?"

He strides in, but it's different. Things seem so... slow...

"W..."

I listen to the sound echo across the room, a blue line forming in the room and becoming a bubble of sound breaking the barrier of light.

Something is wrong here.

I feel him.

"Welcome back, my friend. How goes the war with the TRE and TNO forces?"

Gash blinked, and resigned himself to having to tell Andrew. Everything. "There's no war, Andrew. Not right now, anyway. All of that stopped when Thrawn invaded..." Gash's voice trailed off. "When Xylon died, when I was thrown out of the Order. No one had enough ships defend themselves, nevermind kill each other. After Thrawn hit Ossus, we were too busy fighting him to fight each other."

Gash let that sink in. "You never answered my question, Andrew. Are you ready to leave this place?"

I smiled up at him, crossing my legs.

"The doctors warn me about you. A halucination, they say. Brought on by lack of nutrients and loss of blood. They say my halucinations are killing me."

I look at my hand, and point it at him.

"Thrawn is dead. He died at Bilbringi. And you aren't real."

A wall of bricks erected itself in front of Gash.

"Leave me alone."

Gash sighed as the illusion sprang forth, blocking Gash's path. He instinctively reached out with the Force to push it down, to tear the brick apart.

Funny.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing. When he reached out in the Force, he could only feel -- he couldn't change. Because this world was created by the Force, was made of the Force. It couldn't be changed by the Force, and Gash, standing five-foot eleven, certainly couldn't knock it down.

It was made of the Force...

Gash took a deep breath, cutting himself off from the Force, erecting a wall in his mind to keep it away from him in this imaginary world. No change.

He took a step forward, placing a hand on the brick wall -- and it slipped through. Gash, now free of the trappings of the Force in the fantasy world, was unbound by the thing, stepped through it, shaking his head. "Andrew, look what you just did. You created a wall, with your mind."

He paced around the former-Sith, hands buried in his navy cloak's pockets. "This place isn't real, Andrew. You've created it, in your mind. When the home ship turned on us at Dantooine, you were stabbed in the stomach. You almost died. I had you placed in cryogenic hybernation until we could get a doctor with enough expertise to operate on so critical a wound. Your anatomy is very different, you know." Gash let out a deep breath. "Before I could let you out, the Council ordered that you be kept in here, unconvinced of your innocence.

"Thrawn's spirit was bound to a clone body by a Sith sword, one I used back on Ziost. He waged war on the galaxy, and destroyed the Jenova with his super-soldiers. Xylon died on that ship."