Hello!
  This is not spell checked, but I desperately wanted to update, and hopefully this little creative streak carries on. May the force be with you, always!
        - Kena <3

  I stare at my hands, head spinning as the ship jolts out of hyperspace. A metal chain is attached to the shackles on my wrists, connecting me to the six other prisoners on the ship. We are seated in a row against the wall, shoulder to shoulder, knees tucked into our chests. Every sway and bounce of the ship causes the chain to rattle.

I am the only human, although the group consists of mostly Twi'lek, their green skin surprisingly bright in the lights of the hold, contrasting with the drab, grey and brown clothing they are wearing. I look relatively put together next to them, in my prison garbs.

  I tilt my head, glancing at the woman to my right. Her squinted eyes are downcast, her shoulders slumped forward. Her jade headtails are pulled into a headpiece resembling that of a human bun, out of the way. The headpiece looks similar to a rag. There is a bruise under her neck, like she got punched, or shoved violently.

I feel a presence to my left, but I don't look. I would have to turn my head too far to see them with my good eye, and I don't want to draw attention to myself. The stormtroopers on this shuttle have been less then kind.

I glance at the soldiers in their armor, who haven't moved since we last docked. They are as still as stone. The visors of their helmets stare forward, unmoving, looking eerily like skeletons in the blue light. I squint at them, trying to imagine the humans— the people— underneath them, with thoughts and emotions, families and lovers— to no avail.

Clone Trooper helmets are somehow less imposing.

The ship rattles as we enter an atmosphere, and the lights flicker. My stomach flips, and had I had any food in my stomach, I would throw up. The chains rattle.

  We land with a thump, the prisoners in our rows rocking into each other. No one complains.

  The solider's raise their hands to their helmets, and we hear the buzz of comms. They step forward, urging us to our feet as we stagger, barely being able to stand with the chains weighing us down. I'm staring at the bundled headtails of the Twi'lek woman.

A door slides open, and a Officer steps out of the cockpit, adjusting the grey cap on his head. He is a balding man with small, watery eyes that look over us with distaste, and he waves a hand.

"Open the hatch."

  The ramp to the ship whirs open, and the cabin is flooded in golden yellow light. And heat. The heat is almost overpowering, knocking into us in a wave, making it difficult to breath. My lungs still burning, struggling to take in this sudden change, we are ushered down the ramp like cattle, stumbling into one another, the sound of our feet loud in my ears.

Someone must have fallen, because our chains become taunt, and we jerk to a halt. There's shouting, sounds of a struggle. I try to turn and look, but the Trooper next to me shoves me back into position.

"Stay in your line, slave!" He snaps, his rifle pointed at my shoulder. I'm so stunned that I hardly notice when we begin moving again.

   Twin suns glare down at us, greeting us with their burning rays. Sand for miles.
  Stepping off the ramp, it fills my shoes, the prison flats that make it difficult to run. It's heat causes me to gasp, shaking my feet with each step, trying to rid myself of the itching, scratching, uncomfortable sensation. I really hate sand.
  I trip, and a rough hand grabs my forearm, hauling my back to my feet.

  "Don't fall." The Twi'lek behind me hisses, his voice low as to not be overheard by the Troopers behind us. I glance at him— at his wide green face and round eyes. "They'll only punish you."

  I take careful care to watch where I am walking, trying to ignore the way the sand fills and empties my shoes with each step.

  Heads down, we go where we are directed, handcuffs rubbing sores into our hands as we near a stronghold, jutting out of the earth like a children's toy in a sandbox.

  The closer we get, I see that it is built on jagged sandstone cliffs, a cylindrical shaped building with towers staggered around it. It matches the grimy planet, heat waves radiating off it, causing my vision to be hazy. I find myself wondering if I'm imagining it, if it's really there, because sweat is dripping down my back, my head is spinning, and I'm not sure of anything anymore.

We are nearing what appears to be an opening in the rock, a large archway that leads to a hangar. It's dark, cast in shadow, but we all subconsciously speed up at the sight of it. The promise of shade to avoid the heat is a good incentive.

  Three figures emerge, and the Stormtroopers tell us to hurry. A pale Twi'lek, flanked by pig-like guards, is there to greet us, staying well in the shade to avoid the sun.

  He looks strangely familiar.

  A language flows from his lips, a sharp and startling drawl. The officer nods, replying in the same guttural language. A lightbulb flashes somewhere in my mind. Huttese.

It is rumored that the Hutts love Slave Labor. Perhaps I will find out.

No-one's POV
(Brought to you by @Ahsoka677 because she has been enjoying my story thus far. :)

The Havoc Marauder is quiet. The rumble of the engines is vacant, the passengers quiet, the lights dimmed, and Tech's brain just can't seem to comprehend it all.

     Tech stares across the ship at Hunter, who is sitting with his head in his hands. He can see the tattoo that dances along his fingers, rolls out on his knuckles, twists along his hand. Calculating, he takes in the way his shoulders are slumped forward, the way his fingers twist into his bandana, as if flooded with anxiety.
He feels rather dizzy... the destruction of Kamino, the confusion of Crosshair, and now, this.

  "What do you mean?" He says slowly, his mind moving at miles a minute. "What do you mean, 'she's alive'?"

"She's alive, Tech. Delta. I held her in my arms."

    Hunter's voice is low, exhaustion leaking through every word. Tech glances over at his brother, taking in the tired eyes. Hunter stands up at the speed of light, pacing the room, his hands clench and unclench into fists at his sides, as if he is being swept with waves of anger.

"Kriffing hells, Tech, I held her." He groans, rubbing his face, a shudder wracking his body. "She looked so broken, Tech, one of her eyes, Vod, you should have seen it, and she was limping—"

    "Hunter, slow down." Tech says, pushing his goggles up his nose. His brother pauses, chest heaving, looking down at his feet. Tech lugs himself to his feet, his exhausted legs burning as he half walks, half hauls himself over to Hunter, an exhausted sigh breaking past his lips. He towers over his brother, who looks up at him with eyes brimming with tears. 

      "The statistics say we will have many more run-ins with the empire very soon. I will make sure to hack their prisoner database, track down where they are keeping her." Tech says, a reassuring look on his face. Hunter shudders, looking back down at his feet as Tech places a hand on his shoulder.   "We'll find her, Hunter'ika."

   "I keep failing, Vod." Hunter whispers. "First Crosshair, now this..."

  Tech pulls his brother into a hug.