When you woke up next, you were strapped to some kind of machine, floating in a green liquid, and you hissed—not feeling very happy about this. Not at all, in fact. The sensation was disorienting; your body felt suspended, weightless, yet confined. The brackish neon hue that infused the fluid around you gave off a surreal glow. It almost felt as if you were inside a dream, or a nightmare, but the cold touch of the straps on your skin and the tightness around your wrists and ankles reminded you this was all too real.

Your first instinct was to panic, your heart drumming a frenzied rhythm against your ribs. But as the initial shock wore off, your training kicked in. Taking a deep breath—or, at least the closest approximation you could manage in the strange capsule—you began to assess the situation methodically. If you were to escape, to find out who did this to you and why, panic would not serve you. And so, you forced calm upon your buzzing nerves, focusing on the cool sensation of the liquid and the steady hiss of whatever machine was keeping you in this state.

Now, where were you? Who had done this to you? And most importantly, how were you going to get out?

The thud of footsteps against the hard stone floor echoed through the chamber, and you craned your neck awkwardly to look up. The blurry outline of a figure began to move closer through the shimmering green liquid. As it drew nearer, the figure became clearer — it was the Chancellor, and your pulse quickened with a mixture of dread and defiance. You hissed, baring your teeth in a silent snarl, displaying a primal warning without actually drawing the fluid into your lungs.

"Sorry, dear, that it had to come to this," the Chancellor's voice was cold and unfeeling as she spoke, the sound muffled by the liquid but still unmistakably threatening. "But you've refused to answer our questions so," she smirked, a distorted grimace in the glassy barrier that separated you. Her gloved hand appeared, pressing a syringe filled with a silvery substance against the chamber's access port.

"This truth serum should do the job for us." There was a smirk in her voice, a lilt of victory that made the hair on your nape stand on end. You watched helplessly as she injected the substance into the chamber, watching as it diffused into the green, now tainted by trails of silver.

Panic fought its way back into your chest. This was it — the moment where you had to maintain control, or lose everything to the murky depths of forced confession.

"Oh, don't worry so much; this won't hurt," the Chancellor reassured you in a tone that felt anything but comforting. "And I'll let Anakin stay here with you. He's a good guard, don't you think?"

Then the Chancellor turned away, his steps slow, his robes fluttering around him like a dark, undulating cloud. You watched his retreating form, feeling the icy trail of dread sliding down your spine. And then, gradually emerging from the shadows, you perceived the familiar outline of a strong force signature, as unmistakable as the suns of Tatooine.

Anakin's sky-blue eyes fastened onto your golden hues, his expression a turbulent sea of emotions. "I'm really sorry," he whispered, his tone strange and distorted through the liquid that swirled around you. You grunted—a trail of bubbles rising to the surface betokening your frustration and suppressed anger.

"I really, really didn't want Palpatine to take it this far, but—" Anakin paused, a deep sigh resonating through the shallow water as he shook his head in despair. "I should just shut up, shouldn't I?"

Your grunt was more vehement this time, an affirmative to his rhetorical question.

Anakin gave a small, melancholic smile, a mere shadow of his usual boyish grin, and his eyes softened, "Fine, I'll be quiet."

There was a heaviness in his silence, a solidarity in the shared understanding of the situation that words could not capture. It hung between you like the dense air of a brewing storm, filled with a weight of things unsaid and paths untaken.

Then, with a sudden rush of urgency, Ahsoka bounded into the room. She stopped short when she saw Anakin, his back turned to her, a statuesque silhouette of conflict and sorrow. You caught a glimpse of Rex, too — the faithful clone trooper's posture betraying a marathon of emotions, his features etched with distress.

Your eyes met his, and there was a moment of silent communication, the kind that had often passed between soldiers in the midst of battle. But this was a different kind of war, one of the soul and the mind. You softened your gaze, offering him the only reassurance you could muster, before you had to close your eyes against the stinging liquid.

"Master, what—what have they done to her?" Ahsoka's voice cracked with a mixture of fear and indignation, the sound growing fainter as the murky sludge threatened your consciousness, striving to lull you into an enforced sleep. They wanted you vulnerable, exposed to whatever probing they wished to undertake once your mental barriers were down.

"...the Chancellor said that this would help her," Anakin finished lamely, a hollow note in his voice that belied his own uncertainty and dread.

When you came to again, the room was hushed, charged with a tense anticipation. Rex's fists were clenched, his jaw tight, and you knew that beneath the obedience and loyalty, his heart was raging against the injustice of it all. Ahsoka stood, lightsaber unignited but in hand, a silent avowal of her readiness to defend you, to fight for what she believed was right.

The chamber felt different now—as if the entrance of your allies had shifted the very air, filling it with currents of hope and the possibility of defiance. It was a dangerous moment, teetering on the edge of decision. Would Anakin stand with his chancellor, or with his friends? And you — you were at the center of it all, a pawn that could sway the balance in either direction.

Commander Fox entered the chamber, his stride authoritative yet halting as his eyes took in the scene — you in the tube, Anakin, Ahsoka, Rex, all overshadowed by an air of quiet rebellion. "What are you three doing here? Only General Skywalker should be here now. Shoo," he ordered, motioning Ahsoka and Rex away with a wave of his hand.

But your guttural groan drew everyone's attention. You stared into the water, your silence turning into a vacuum, pulling at the sympathies and convictions of all present. As you opened your eyes, pleading silently, Fox seemed to waver. The sternness in his posture softened, and with a resigned sigh, he approached the control panel beside the tube.

He pressed a few buttons, and with an audible gurgle, the water began to drain away, leaving you collapsing helplessly to the ground. Your claws scratched the metal grating beneath you, your tail curled limply around your form, and your wings dropped, all the strength sapped from your body.

"What are you doing?" Anakin asked sharply, his gaze hard and questioning as he looked at Fox.

Fox met Anakin's intense stare, a haunted look in his eyes. "I can't see her like this; it hurts too much," he admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper with the last few words as if confessing a weakness he could hardly own up to.

Anakin's expression softened at Fox's admission, and he stepped forward, placing a hand on the clone trooper's armored shoulder. "I know. It hurts for me, too," he said.

 You lifted your head with effort and sighed, a sound of weariness paired with an undeniable undertone of resilience. "It's... okay, Fox. I'll get out of this soon enough. When that eel of a Chancellor finds out I have nothing more to hide, other than his corpse when I'm finished with him." Your laugh was choked, a surprisingly light sound under the circumstances, before a defiantly vibrant swirl of liquid escaped your lips and dissipated into the air.

You shook your head, your horns flaring with a renewed sense of determination. "I'll... just stay here for now." The very act of speaking seemed to draw upon your last reserves of strength, but your voice carried the weight of an oath.

Anakin stepped forward, determination etched into his features. As he pressed a hand onto the cool glass of the tube, the Force hummed between you, a silent exchange of understanding and resolve.

Your allies gathered closer, defiance mixed with concern painted on their faces. It wasn't just about escape anymore; it was about standing up to tyranny, about deciding who they were and what they stood for. You knew, with the certainty that comes from staring into the abyss and finding your courage there, that whatever the Chancellor intended, he would not find you easy prey.

Together, you were more than the sum of your parts, and as you met each of your friends' gazes in turn, you saw it reflected there too—a fierce readiness to act, to protect, and to fight back. The battle lines were not just drawn; they were etched in stone, and across every one of your hearts.