Chapter Text
A Jedi peers out from behind a rock, pausing to clutch the fresh ache in one of his legs. He looks around with weary eyes, his mind running faster than his tired body can take. To his left, a sheer drop to either a deep pool or to his oblivion; to his right, a sprawling expanse of dimly lit tunnels and caves. He's alone here, but terrified of the pursuing chance of that changing. He throws back his hood to get a better look at his surroundings, running a hand through damp hair as he surveys the platforms and villages across the gap. He lets out a deep breath as he picks a path, prays to the Force that immediate death isn't right around the corner, and continues on.
Because at this point it's the only option left.
Obi-Wan Kenobi has known the Force long enough to know it isn't much help in predicting things. Predicting things like, well, an entire legion of clone troopers turning on him in a heartbeat.
But he does know it well enough to know that there's hope.
He doesn't know how far down he is in the planet's winding underground levels, nor does he know exactly how he's going to escape the hundreds of soldiers trying to track him down. He doesn't even know where he intends to go; his destination for the last hour or so hasn't been much more in depth than "anywhere but here", but with death behind him it's enough to keep him going forward.
It happened quickly. A flash of light in the corner of his eye, the sound of blaster fire in his ear and the shriek of his varactyl companion. Then a long plummet into darkness. He didn't have time to understand it, to find reasons why, why the men he'd fought alongside for years would betray him. No, not just his men. His friends.
He still can't place why. He's trying not to think about it, really. Right now, surviving is more important. But he can't scratch the nagging feeling that things have gone very, very wrong.
He's trying to work his way up, hoping to find any form of civilisation where he can hide, or ideally get a ride off this hellish planet. But he's so far down that few sentients even seem to live here. Every path leads to empty mines and dead end tunnels, seemingly abandoned in early stages of construction. Some of them are barely even lit properly. At least that might be a place to hide, if things get really rough. There's already been some narrow escapes from clone troopers, but none have noticed him yet. If all goes well, he can escape without them even knowing he survived the fall. But then again, knowing his luck in this life, the chances are slim.
There's another mystery at hand here, though, besides his own betrayal. He was supposed to come here to find the separatists, hoping to get an edge in the war by capturing General Grievous. But he barely had a chance to find him before all hell broke loose. The journey to the planet was held up because of pirates, of all the absurd things - pirates who did not respect the urgency Kenobi required by any stretch of the imagination. It's been a day for horrendous luck all round, as it turns out.
He can't even communicate with the Jedi at this point; the fall from his mount scattered his tracking beacon and communicator to who knows where. He rests a hand over his lightsaber, thankfully still secured to his waist. It's an effort to calm himself, but also comes from the fear that at any moment a trooper might walk around the corner and open fire. It's hard to concentrate in the Force at times like this.
He creeps ahead, up a slope that seems to lead to a wider area, brightly lit compared to the miserable darkness of the vacant caves. He keeps having to remind himself there's more out there to avoid than just the clone troopers. Somewhere lurks General Grievous and his army of battle droids, not to mention his MagnaGuards. Just a wonderful situation, really.
He hears echoes from around a corridor, eyes darting wildly around the open cavern as he desperately searches for somewhere to hide. His only options are back the way he came, and forward through the tunnel where the muffled voices echo. But then he stops, and slowly peers up. A metal platform hangs above him, holding fluorescent lights and pieces of wiring and machinery up on the ledge. In a swift leap, he lands on the top, crouching to soften the landing and hide himself, but it's still enough to make an audible clang against the metal. Wincing, he hears the shuffle of footsteps through the tunnel, and takes a deep breath in case even his own breathing would give him away.
A small group of Utai come waddling through on short legs, looking startled and confused. The lights on their helmets flash across the expanse of the cave as they throw their heads around left and right looking for the source of the noise. Thankfully none of them seem to be bright enough to look up. He observes them for a few moments more, watching one gesture to a datapad and ramble in a language he can't even begin to comprehend, while the other two give him their replies. They quickly hurry down the other tunnel, inspecting parts of the wall until they disappear from view.
He catches his breath, relieved that down here things seem quiet enough that the locals are the only ones he has to worry about. No signs of panic from a separatist invasion or clones on a manhunt, so that's a pleasant reassurance. For the Utai it's apparently just business as usual. But he doesn't trust them enough to expose himself, and certainly doesn't expect they'll be of much help to him this far down. So he presses on.
He decides a sensible plan of action would to be find some place to observe, to try and pick out a safe landing platform to steal a ship or smuggle himself off the planet. Keeping to the upper levels of the interior caves along the metal platforms, he slowly makes his way further up for another agonising length of time.
His eyes tire of the same brown rock for what feels like miles. He judges his decisions carefully, stopping to peek round every corner just in case. Peeking round one particular corner, his eyes widen and he feels his heart plummet. But it's silent. So he takes another look, frozen in stunned surprise.
Battle droids. Rows and rows of every kind of mechanical nightmare he can image, as far as the eye can see. But not a single one moves. There's B1s slumped to one side where they stand, blasters at their feet; B2s tipping over, MagnaGuards with staffs disabled, still clutched in lifeless hands. A completely silent room, without the buzz or hum of a single motor or servo. Each one, effectively, dead.
He heard what happened on the other side of the Battle of Naboo, outside in the fields where the Gungans claimed victory as the droids stood lifeless. But this is different, these droids don't run from a command ship anymore. (If they did it would certainly have made his life a lot easier these past few years). This was done for a purpose.
He wanders what seems to be their abandoned base; deserted of sentients and regrettably without any waiting ships or vehicles. He doesn't suppose he's going to find answers as to why this entire portion of the army is deactivated, or where their general went, but he supposes its worth a try. It's hardly the first time he's done detective work.
As he walks between the frozen corpses of droids, he approaches a number of computer consoles and terminals below large display monitors. Taking a closer look and trying some of the inputs, he finds them still perfectly functional. A huge list of recent data lies in front of him; as if whoever was here last didn't even take the precaution of encrypting or securing the devices. But why shut down the droids and not the computers?
Staying in one place isn't a smart move, so he scours what information he can find as quickly as possible. He pulls up a database tied in to the rest of the planet's computer systems, detailing recent arrivals and departures of ships. The most recent is a departure to the Mustafar system.
It has the markings of one of Grievous' quick escapes, but this isn't like the other times. Grievous wouldn't shut down his droids. He certainly wouldn't leave terminals running unmanned like this.
There's no data on the droids; neither this nor the other terminals seem to host the droid systems, suggesting that their deactivation was done remotely. Or even internally, if such a thing was programmed into them. He's never exactly been one for technology. Maybe Anakin would know.
Looking through the rest of the systems, taking nervous glances up at the droids and the tunnels opposite every now and again, he finds a detailed enough map of the primary sinkholes of the planet. The one he's in right now is the main one, where most of the planet's bureaucracy lives and operates, and where most of its underground population can be found. The branching tunnels lead to a handful of other, smaller ones, home to mainly Utai and the location of a number of the planet's mines. Here he's about halfway to the surface, with civilisation close enough that he's surprised the clone troopers haven't made their way down here yet.
But then his eyes wander to the screen farthest to his left, at the end of the row. It flickers slightly, and as he looks closer he sees a hole straight through it. And a few blackened marks in the side of the base's metal walls. Taking time to properly examine his surroundings where his panic would previously not allow, he follows a trail of blaster marks along the walls and floor, some of which seem to have punctured a few of the dead droids. They lead him to an entrance to a small, dark room, with a large circular centrepiece that appears to be a large holographic device. There's a pair of dead clones on the floor. Slashed right through with a lightsaber.
Curiosity gets the better of him and he carefully pushes one of the buttons on the console, jumping as blue light suddenly fills the room. A familiar figure springs to life, hunched and crooked and dark.
"This is General Grievous," comes the voice, garbled even more so than usual through the hologram. "Requesting contact from Lord Sidious."
He hisses the words, and Obi-Wan can just make out his left hand, clenched into a fist. And then suddenly it comes crashing down on the console.
"Answer me!" he roars. "What happened to my battle droids?"
He throws his cape back and starts to pace back and forth. The audio is poor, but it can't mask his choked breaths. He pictures nostrils flaring under the mask.
It's then there comes a loud noise, and a flash of light. The general growls and turns around in an instant, pulling out a pair of lightsabers from his cape. He leaps up and leaves Obi-Wan relying on his ears. Blaster fire, words he can't make out, but he knows the voices all too well. And he knows their dying screams more than he would like. They're the clones at his feet. The rest of the hologram is useless, just the continued sounds of battle, spinning lightsabers, and the roaring of an engine (one of the general's typical escapes, he supposes).
It's all too familiar; a morbid reminder of just how long he's been a part of this war, just how mundane death and violence have become.
He prefers not to dwell on it.
But he turns off the hologram too late. A probe droid turns the corner, summoned by the noise, and he can't react fast enough to avoid its gaze. He grimaces as it sets off an alarm, taking it out with a slash of his saber although he knows it's too late.
As he hears footsteps and the braying of varactyls, he sets off running. But as he navigates the sprawling tunnels with nothing to guide him but a series of guesses and luck, he finds that isn't enough. As the rumbling footsteps draw closer still, the shouts of clones and his impending doom draw nearer. There's light at the end of the tunnel, pure blinding light. But it isn't the light of a village, of the shelter of civilisation where he can hide among structures of bone and a bustling population.
It's the abyss.
He feet slow as he realises there's nowhere to go. Inside the sinkhole he sees hundreds of settlements; the cities stretched out along the edges, the spaceports at the top. He watches the coming and going of ships, so far from him and so impossible now. Even from here he can see the white armour of the clone troopers, dotted around the busiest areas.
All he wants is to go up, to go anywhere but here, in the empty depths of the planet where he's only prolonging the inevitable with no means of escape.
They're behind him now.
Well, there goes a few hours of walking.
Before they even get a shot at him, he leaps off the ledge. By the time they catch up to peer over the edge, he's already rolling into a landing on the level below.
He pauses, crouching on the rough ground to catch his breath. But as his panting subsides he realises he isn't the only one drawing breaths. Very heavy breaths.
He freezes in place, afraid to turn around and have his suspicions confirmed.
And then there's a cough.