Those minutes he spent floating in the bacta tank, turned to hours and those to nearly a full day and a half. He had been in a never ending night horror, all of his fears, regrets and anger were pulled from the deepest reaches of his mind, and were used to torture him. He helplessly watched over and over again his parents and only sibling get slaughtered, and then the death of his Master, and the future deaths of all of his friends and those he held dear. The things he was put through for those long 36 hours, would be the equivalent of a solider returning with PTSD, and enough to bring many people to the brink of suicide, and he was indeed teetering on that fence, but he knew that that wouldn't help anyone.
He woke, his heart racing, his mind in pieces like a shattered glass window, and tears in his eyes. He pulled out the respirator and crawled out of the tank, falling to the floor on his knees and palms of his hands, the liquid dripping down the bridge of his nose. Time slowed down for him, and the drops would slowly rain down, splashing on the floor, and he counted them,
One...Two... Three,
He used his Master's old trick, to clear his mind in those times when he has no faith or hope in the light at the end of the tunnel.
Four... Five... Six...
He inhaled and closed his eyes, struggling to push the uncontrolled feelings of hate and fury out of his consciousness.
Seven... Eight... Nine....
He opened his mind, letting the good and bad flush out, and he was then and only then, focused.
Ten.
He slowly rose to his feet, and held his hand to his head as he slowly made his way out to the conference room, using the wall for support. He stumbled into the room, and nearly fell, bashing his head against the table, but he caught himself, and slid gratefully onto the couch. He spoke softly to BB, feeling like someone had placed the weight of a star ship on his shoulders.
"...How... how are you?"
[member="Bryce Bantam"]