The world of Geonosis was a red desert, with hot scorching days and cold, numb nights. A chill swept through the area as soon as the sun disappeared, and Anakin sealed his leather jacket up before proceeding to lag behind the little parade of Imperial escorts, staying hidden behind rock formations and dunes. The voices were silent in his mind now, allowing him to think clearly, to focus on just what the hell he was doing. He was supposed to be staying hidden, from both the Sith and the Jedi. Was supposed to melt into the shadows, hide away, disappear. Not… this.

Just follow. That's all I have to do. Follow, he tried to reassure himself. Find out where the factory is, send an anonymous message to the Jedi or Senate, and then leave the planet. Moving again wasn't something he was looking forward to, but it also wasn't optional. Tapping into the Force slightly to conceal his presence was also taking a risk, but for the moment, he felt it worth it. Vile darkness surrounded the troopers and their cargo; he could feel it, familiarize with it. It was rank and hot and searing and putrid, and Anakin felt nauseous at the feel of it. Well, that's a good thing. I think.

He wondered why Qui-Gon had shut up now.

If it was really Qui-Gon.

The stormtroopers paused a moment, and whispered something into their comms. Several of the men moved forward and began pulling rocks away from the entrance to an abandoned hive. Supposedly abandoned hive. As they revealed the entryway, Anakin could see light within, and he tenderly stretched out a tendril of the Force to investigate.

The place reeked of the dark side, of Sith spoils and vile actions.

Call it in. Do it now, his mind – his own mind – urged him. Just report what you've seen, then head back, pack your bag, and get the heck off world. You've done enough.

Don't risk it all for something that doesn't give a crap anyway.

Anakin hesitated, expecting Qui-Gon to pop back up and fight off his own conscience; but there was nothing. The voice had fallen away. After so long of it speaking or at least being there nonstop, constantly pushing, to have it gone was suddenly strange. Not that he'd accepted that the voice was possibly Qui-Gon with the Force, because that was ridiculous, and besides, his entire life revolved around not being able to accept anything.

Aaand he was getting off topic.

The stormtroopers and their cargo disappeared into the tunnels, and once Anakin was sure that they had enough of a head start, he rushed forward and entered the old hive. It was musty, and the air inside still hot and stifling, but he'd been in worse situations. Like the underground mazes of Libreth…

Stop it. Focus. Stay alert.

He moved forward, the air growing staler, the sounds of voices and engines growing stronger as he followed his targets' trail down various corridors and through about a dozen different entrances leading into deeper, darker tunnels. His blaster weighed heavy against his hip, a strange contrast to the light familiarity of his former lightsabers; he still wasn't used to lacking the weapon, and it always left him uneasy. Vulnerable.

Red light started filling the tunnel from an entry point up ahead, so he slowed down his pace and slammed up his mental shields so that he couldn't be sensed. Before he did though, he noted that this place reeked of the dark side. He could hear a loud voice giving orders, one that he recognized almost immediately. Tarkin. How in the galaxy that arrogant buffoon was still in a high Imperial position was beyond him, but he couldn't dwell on the thought now. He creeped as close to the doorway as he dared, and then looked through.

It was a working factory, that much was obvious. The grinding of gears and other noises cast an eerie echo wherever the tunnels could reverberate the sound, and Anakin cringed when he heard Tarkin order that 'drone 32x4' be demolished because of unacceptable deformity. As if the normal creatures weren't hideous and inhumane enough; he didn't want to see what one looked like screwed up. He waited, hiding in the blackness of the tunnels, until the guard troopers rushed away to follow out Tarkin's orders; he took advantage of the moment and leapt up into the room, using the Force to propel himself up into the rafters. They were wide and metal and drilled into the cavern's walls, and Anakin had just enough room to lie on his stomach and peer of the edge while being concealed in the shadows high above the factory's main room.

He immediately recognized the area as the drone testing area, where Tarkin and whoever else was in charge examined and critiqued the mutated monstrosities. The lighting was a dim orange glow, and it cast an eerie appearance as drone after drone was introduced to Tarkin, who stood in the center of the room with that stone expression of his. The wrinkles of his frowning mouth and creased forehead didn't even move as he spoke. "Accepted. Accepted. Add more armor to the leg. Smooth out the chrome a tad more. Accepted. Denied. Denied. Accepted. Double scan those lenses to make sure they work; they're all clouded. Accepted." The Imperial officer chanted similar words for several minutes, all while Anakin struggled to activate his hologrammic disk, turning on the camera to record everything around him. He would send the evidence to the Republic anonymously, and then disappear. He got thirty seconds of clear feed, and then shoved the disk back into his jacket pocket. Now if only he could get back out unseen…

A whirring noise right near his ear made him jump and nearly fall right off the beam; eyes wide, he snapped his head around to see a tiny blue droid the size of his fist hovering near his head, giving on a tiny, surprised whistle.

Stang. He didn't see a camera on the thing, and it appeared to simply be a little navy ball with a single wheel on the bottom and sensors all around, but that didn't mean it wasn't already alerting troopers to his location. He reached out to snatch it, but it danced out of the way of his grasping fingers. Strangely, it didn't go racing for its masters; instead, it crept an inch closer, and gave another barely audible whistle in his direction.

"Shut up," he hissed, irritated. He reached out to grab the thing, and missed. He tried again. And again. A fourth time. Fifth. On the sixth try, he managed to finally grab the little sphere, and then his fingers easily found the battery panel on the tiny thing. With two movements, he disconnected a wire, shutting the droid down; he then shoved it into a hidden pocket in his t-shirt, near his belt, because droids always carried useful information, and if this one had recently been around Tarkin personally, then it was brimming with useful information. If possible, he could find a way to ship the droid with the video, giving the Jedi more help than he'd at first anticipated in their fight against the Imperial drones.

Happy? he half-heartedly demanded of Qui-Gon, snorting as he cautiously got to his knees and startwd looking for a way out.

No answer.

At least, not the reply he expected.

Instead, after nearly three minutes after he'd nabbed the droid, his head practically exploded at the suddenness and ferociousness with which Qui-Gon's voice boomed in his mind.

"ANAKIN! RUN!"

It roared in his head, causing him to stumble from where he'd been trying to get to his feet; he fell flat on his back on the beam, just as three laser bolts from below shot up and obliterated the metal supports keeping that portion of the rafter intact. The thing crashed to the ground, a tremendous sound, and with it went Anakin.

"Damn it!" He was on his feet in under ten seconds, but it wasn't fast enough. An impossibly-strong fist slammed itself against his face, sending hot white pain soaring from his cheekbone to his jaw and temple; Anakin stumbled, dazed, as another drone ran over and swiped his legs out from under him. The young fugitive was sent sprawling into the arms of a waiting stormtroopers; as soon as he felt the strong arms around him, Anakin honed into the Force – because the risk of the Jedi finding him was far less than being captured and then tortured to death by the Empire. But just before he could unleash a wave of power against his attackers, the drone who'd punched him did it again, but its hand wielding a syringe instead of fingers suddenly, and the needle plunged deep into his side before he could stop it.

"Gah!" Instantly, he could feel the serum flood through his veins, not a poison that would kill him instantly, not a sleeping drug, but something worse. Anakin felt the numbness through his mind, not physically, but felt the power slip from his mental grasp. A Force-sedative, similar to what he'd once taken to quiet the voices, but ten times stronger he seemed, dampening each and every midi-chlorian in his bloodstream. As soon as the needle was yanked out from his aching side, he was subdued, arms painfully pulled behind him, a metal fist tangling into his dark blonde hair and yanking his head upward. The Force completely melted from his conscious, and with it went Qui-Gon, who'd started yelling incoherently but not faded into an empty nothingness.

Forced on his knees and held by four drones, Anakin gave one last attempt to escape, and was awarded with a sharp knee colliding with his back. Agony ripped up his spine, and he finally was stilled as Tarkin calmly strode over, military boots clicking against the stone ground as he stopped directly in front of his new captive.

"Lord Vader," he said simply, not even blinking in surprise. "Took you long enough."

Of course it had all been a trap, the obviousness of the caravan, the ease with which he had followed them without being acknowledged. He had been a fool for not seeing the signs sooner, and Anakin released his anger by scowling as darkly as he could at the pompous old man before him. If looks could kill… "Tarkin," he spat bitterly. "Looking fresh out of the grave as usual, I see."

He got a powerful blow to the back of the head for that, and his vision swam.

Tarkin just sighed in response. "Still so arrogant, Lord Vader," he said in distaste. "I have to admit, when intel said you were falling for the trap, I thought you'd have at least the initiative or intelligence to cover your tracks better, to sense that something was amiss. Alas, however, you still believe you are infallible; and for that mistake, you shall pay the price fully and then over."

His jacket was torn off, his blaster and holster removed. Once that was done, he was shoved to the ground, and a heavy foot from a drone was pressed between his shoulders blades to prevent him from rising. How strong were these things that Anakin was certain the bones of his back were about to break under the pressure? The needles now visible on all their arms made him uneasy. The drones were designed for combat against the Jedi – their Order didn't stand a chance against the army without a quick advantage. An advantage Anakin obviously wouldn't be offering any time soon, thanks to his own folly.

"What a revolting disappointment you are, Vader," Tarkin sneered, though Anakin couldn't see him because his face was being pressed against the ground.

At that moment, another voice boomed from nearby, "I warned everyone he was going soft, going weak – could see it in his pretty blue eyes all along. Isn't that right, boy?"

He'd recognize that voice, those words, the mocking tint in that tone, anywhere. "Maul," he coughed into the dirt, heart suddenly pounding in his own ears. Hadn't Obi-Wan killed him? Crashed his ship? Of course if someone had to survive death, it had to be that putrid Zabrakk.

Maul – definitely Maul, no doubt – chuckled a deep throated laugh, and Anakin could hear him approaching with thundering footsteps. The young man was about to shoot back some cutting retort when he was yanked up onto his knees by the hair. Wincing, Anakin cut off any sound of pain he was tempted to mutter, and then blinked until his vision was clear enough to see Maul stand before him.

Only, it wasn't Maul; not like Anakin remembered him. Now, the Sith disciple was more machine than man, with mechanical legs and armor engraved into what was left of his black and red flesh. Some of his horns were jagged, with little razor edges; and over his eyes, there was a mask of dark, sickly golden metal, matching his flaming eyes, ending just high enough to reveal stained teeth and maimed lips.

So Maul really hadn't survived Obi-Wan, at least, not all of him.

Because this atrocity was someone, something, different. Anakin recognized him from HoloNet reports.

General Grievous.

That name only brought one thought to his mind, and without thinking, Anakin lunged, making it only a few feet before being yanked back. But the rage on his face didn't die even as the drones forced him back on his knees. "You!" he shouted hatefully at the cyborg Sith. "You killed her! You murdered Satine Kryze! She was a pacifist! She had no quarrel with the Imperials, Mandalore was neutral! You killed her! You slaughtered her!"

Grievous only smirked, what was left of his lips pulling back to reveal more of his jaw and gums than what should be normal. "So, you finally got a message through your stubborn, ignorant skull of yours," he stated, voice carrying a slight wheeze as he spoke. "This reaction is more than I could've anticipated; wasn't it only a year or so ago that you were barbarically slicing down women, men, and children, no matter where their loyalties lay? Come, now Vader, you may be a stupid fool, but I'll be kriffed if you're a hypocritical one."

"She had nothing to do with the war or the Sith, you bastard, and you know it."

"Of course I do," Grievous replied dryly. "But she was nearly everything to Obi-Wan Kenobi… and he means just as much to you."

He'd expected such an explanation, had been preparing for it really. Didn't make the blow any less painful, didn't stop him from snarling and then once again attempting to attack the Sith before him.

For just the briefest second, his eyes flashed a pale bronze, before melting back into miserably blue.

"Look at that," Grievous mocked, grabbing Anakin's chin and bringing his face up to his own as he bent over. "So blue, like Nubian skies. No wonder that pretty little Padme Amidala fell for you – your eyes are just so innocent, Vader. Too bad they're reflective mirrors, and not transparent glass."

"Leave. Her. Out of this," he hissed in reply, pure rage running through his veins even as his heart turned to ice at his enemy's words. "You've got your Empire, your army, your trophy. What else are you bothering with, Maul? It's pointless."

Grievous snickered, releasing Anakin's face and taking a few steps backwards. "Trophy? You're not worth being a prize, Vader. How does it feel, to know you're not even worthy enough to be a captive? Not worthy enough to be a traitor? Not worthy enough to be a pathetic, scarred, whimpering slave child?"

The Sith raised his right hand up, leveling it at his captive.

"How does it feel to know that when I'm through with you, you'll be worth less than the abandoned nothingness devouring what's left of your empty soul?"

Anakin answered just barely; or maybe he didn't – he wasn't sure.

He couldn't hear anything, not even his own voice, when dark Force lightning came soaring out of Grievous's fingers, penetrating every nerve and every cell of his body.

He couldn't hear anything over the lightning, and the impossible force of his own screams.

xXx

"You have to save him," Qui-Gon's voice pleaded with the Jedi Master he connected with back at the Temple. "Without him, the Force will never be balanced. If Anakin Skywalker dies, then so does any hope for the Jedi Order."

"He's more than just the boy you were deceived by," the Jedi argued quietly. "He's Darth Vader. He's a Sith."

"Not anymore. Never truly was," Qui-Gon insisted. "Please. I've attempted convincing you for a very long time now, but we've run out of time. If you do not take action soon, it will be too late."

"We cannot rush into this. What you are asking me to do is…"

"Treason? Betrayal of the Jedi? Against everything all else is speaking of? I know; but this is the only way. You must find Padme Amidala, and then you must take her with you to Geonosis. Hurry, please, before…"

The voice stopped suddenly, and the Jedi opened his eyes from meditation, though he kept the connection open. "Qui-Gon? Are you still there?"

"They have him," Qui-Gon answered after a pause. "They're torturing him."

The Jedi in the Temple sighed heavily, slowly standing up. "I can't even ensure success on this deranged mission of yours," he warned, even though he was already heading out of the Room of a Thousand Fountains and towards the Temple doors. "It may fail. Skywalker may still die."

"He won't," was the confident answer. "Thank you for doing this."

"You knew it was unlikely that I would turn you down," the Jedi answered simply, striding out of the Temple and into Coruscant's night air. Cloak bellowing behind him, he made his way towards the speeders. "And what of Kenobi? You ask me to find Amidala, and yet you leave Skywalker's Master in the dark of all that is happening?"

"Obi-Wan, sadly, is not ready," Qui-Gon answered, sounding regretful. "Soon, he will be. But that time is not now." Another pause. "I am going now. Thank you once again."

The Jedi nodded, even though he knew there was no one to see his answer; but Qui-Gon would know, surely, being one with the Force and all. It only took him a short span of minutes to reach the large apartment tower attached to the Senate building, and under an hour of conversing with Qui-Gon Jinn, the Jedi Master arrived in front of the penthouse front door, room 500. He rang the bell, and stood there, preparing himself for the rather insane-sounding proposal he was about to offer.

Padme Amidala answered soon enough, doe-like eyes widening in surprise at the man standing in front of her one o'clock in the morning.

"Master Dooku, what can I do for you?"