The youth looks up from his cell, days had passed he was sure of it. How many was another question entirely since his capture. He could still feel his hand twitch randomly from the repeated electrocutions he had already endured as the guards threw in a pad of paper and a basic pencil. A standing threat that if he did “Anything they deemed unacceptable, the punishment would be far worse then anything received so far, and the luxury of writing would be removed”. Taking up the pencil he looked at the outdated instrument. How long had it been since he had actually held one of these? How long since the galaxy as a whole had? He had no doubt this was some cunning plan to reveal information, yet the only escape from his mind was to write or draw. Was there really any other option? Quietly he set to writing, focusing from the pain of the burns and the twitching of his arm to writing
I am not entirely sure how long I have been here, a few days at least…I think? Has anyone noticed me gone yet? I’m sure dad has by now…I hope he doesn’t think I abandoned him again. That would be horrible. I know they hope to break me, make me reveal something, anything to help their plans. Though I have to protect him, protect them. Remember what I was taught and use it. He would have been proud at how many of the bastards I took down though. Single handedly assuring that they had to earn the right to take a Manadalorian as a captive. Their boss had to stop me. Not just a goon.
Time has no meaning here, they change guards here at seemingly random so I cannot even time that. I think they do it on purpose of course. Keep me stumbling and unsure. Food, when and if it comes is entirely random as well. I am not sure entirely what they want from me, what they think they will accomplish…Though I am a Mandalorian, I will never surrender…I will get home one day…
the writing for the moment trails off, the pain in his arm growing stronger from the twitching as he leans against the wall looking out at the guards, a hand rubs lightly at the collar that he no longer dares to pull at. A low sigh escapes him as “dinner” is pushed into the cell. Its not great food, its enough to keep him alive, little do they know if they are attempting to demoralize him, or starve him for information, they will have to do much better, starvation and much worse food was a staple of growing up. Though…they don’t need to know that.