Where caged Wolves lie - Part I

[Darth Vader]

When Jon's eyes finally snapped open, he was not standing in the same busy, bustling metropolis as he was before.

Rather, he was being dragged along an open, lengthy corridor, two Stormtroopers clad in white flanking at his sides. The guard's arms were linked tightly with his own, preventing any means of making an escape or retaliating. Jon's body felt too weak and shaky to even throw a punch, besides. The blow to his head had took quite the strain on him. The bastard felt his legs scrape against the cold, hard floor, the troopers seeming to take no heed of his pain as they pulled their prisoner along. Peering out, Snow could see that the men were both armed, carrying blaster rifles each with their hands to spare. No getting away from this now, then... Jon grunted to himself mentally. Glancing down at his belt, he could see that his armoury was bare. They'd took his dagger, his bow, his arrows. Longclaw...

Jon bit down hard on his lip. He'd promised someone a long time ago he wouldn't lose that sword again.

Jon stirred and shifted slightly, groaning lowly as his gaze drooped to the floor. These sudden movements caught the attention of the Stormtroopers guiding him along. Or one of them, at least.

"He's woken up..." the one to Jon's left visibly pointed out, prompting a mere grunt from the other. "It doesn't matter. We're nearly there, just keep your grip on him."

Jon's senses alarmed. They were going where?

Snow tilted his head to look back upward, and take in his surroundings. Steel doors of a strange kind littered the hallway, each of them parallel opposite to one another. The most distinctly strange thing about them to Jon was that they lacked handles. How were they supposed to open? The bastard was still feeling the aftershock of his fall, so though hard to tell, he noted the symbols and letters that was plastered above each steel, cell door. A, B, C, and so on. Listening closely, for every few doors they'd pass, Jon could hear banging and knocking from within. And... muffled cries and pleas. ass though someone was tightly sealed shut within there, begging to get out. Begging for their freedom.

The Stormtroopers finally came to a halt as they reached the next door, this one titled F, Jon noted observantly. "Open it." the one to Jon's right barked in command. A commander or higher-up of sorts, Jon realised quickly. The other Stormtrooper paced forward obediently, up to a pad etched into the wall, hitting a few buttons simultaneously. Almost instantly, the two halves of the door receded, opening up and revealing a whole other room behind it.

Even that highly technical mechanism was enough to impress Jon Snow.

"In you go." the Stormtrooper holding onto him moved behind him, pulling Jon onto his feet by the scruff of his collar, and then sending a hard shove against his back. In a weak enough state already, Jon stumbled forward, tumbling onto his stomach with a groan, the cell doors closing behind him with a chink, closing the bastard off inside.

For a few moments, Jon didn't even dare move. He had not the strength too. There he layed on his cell's floor, defeated and shamed. The proud Lord Commander of the Nights Watch.

Jon slowly pushed himself from the ground, and too his feet. It wasn't easy. His knees still racked with ache and his head was still pounding, yet he was able to bring himself too. Snow drawed a deep breath inward, his hazel-brown orbs beginning to wander the room he had been sealed within.

There was a bed in the far corner of the room. Not a comfortable or welcoming looking bed, but it couldn't be half as worse as what they had back at the Wall. A wide metal bowl of sorts was stationed off to the side of the room, with water at the bottom of it. A substitute for a chamber pot, clearly, yet it looked fancier and still more sophisticated. Next to that was a supported basin, a turnable handle attached at the top. When Jon leaned forward to turn the knob, water gushed freely, as though it were a fountain.

The only other notable thing in Jon's new abode was a extremely narrow slant cropped into the wall, which was meant to classify as a window. It seemed impossible to actually see out of, though. It just served as the only source of fresh oxygen and air. It was hard to call the air in Corucsant fresh, though. The place reeked of craziness and instability. Jon didn't like it at all. Not a bit.

What lurked at the back of his head was the thought of home.

But where was that? And how far and wide would he have to travel to find it again? Jon didn't know, and perhaps he would never know again. He could only recall snippets of life before this, mainly his time spent at the Wall and Castle Black. Anywhere else was a blur to him. And the more he mulled on the subject, the more his head hurt. The cycle was a vicious one.

Jon glanced back at the sealed door, lips pursing slightly outward. "Those won't be opening again anytime soon..." the bastard murmured to himself conclusively. Jon was quite literally trapped. He could only wait, and have hope that the Stormtroopers would return hastily, so all this nonsense and madness could be cleared up and Jon could go.

Jon reached up to his shoulders, unclipping the black fur cloak that draped along his back and allowing it to drop freely to the ground. If he was going to be staying her for a while, he might as well get comfortable.

Snow plodded along toward the bed, taking a seat at the edge of it. He sat quietly, trying to gather and piece his thoughts back together, his eyes fixated to the door ahead of him. He felt his mind wander back to the events that had transpired down below in the second tier of the city. Was what he had done truly right? Or had he been too bold. There was no way of defusing the situation was what Jon kept telling himself. That the clash was inevitable. But was he right in taking sides? Was there really no other way?

And then... a sense of regret washed over him as he remembered. Crona... Jon realised. What had happened to the purple-haired boy after Jon had flee'd the scene. Had he met his grizzly demise at the hands of Sivo? Or worse... the Stormtroopers. Did they have him captive as well? And what was with the clumsy girl on the moped? And where was Adam when all the chaos erupted? So many questions went unanswered, and feelings of remorse and guilt racked and ate away at the Lord Commanders conscious.

Had the very one he was trying to protect fell anyway?

Jon breathed through bared teeth, craning his head to look out the etch in the wall that served for a window. It was still bright enough outside, though an orange glimmer shimmered through into the room, as though evening tide had just hit. Jon looked down at the bed he was sat upon. The best thing he could do right now was rest, he concluded. The headache was still there, and the bastard had the far-off hope that maybe, just maybe when he awoke, he'd be back where he truly belonged; at the Wall, with his brothers in arms and by oath.

Jon brought his feet and legs up, shifting his body so that was facing away from the wall, eyes closing over as he rested his head against the thin pillow provided. He did his best to drift off into a state of sleep, preparing himself physically for whatever was to come next.

[Darth Vader]

After awakening from his dream

Jon awoke from his slumber with a start, gasping for a breath of air.

He slowly pulled himself into a seating position on the bed, the blankets crinkled and creased from where he was laying. Jon brought his hands to his face, whipping the gloves off as he brushed the fatigue from his eyes, and wiped off a mat of sweat running down his forehead. Then, the Lord Commander surveyed his surroundings once again.

As he had expected, he was still sat within the confinement of his barren, plain cell room. Nothing had changed from the time when Jon had fallen asleep. The same sink, the same bed and the same chamber pot all stood upright in the same places. The room's saturation had altered, though. It brightness was a lot more dull and moody. Jon looked over his shoulder to peer through the thin slant in the wall.

It had struck nighttime, as he had anticipated.

Jon sighed. He couldn't have slept for more than a few hours, at most. Or had it been longer? Time was difficult to pinpoint in this narrow box. Was it the evening, still, or had the clocks already passed midnight?

Jon placed a hand at his temple. This was the torture of it all, then. Being locked away to rot and turn mad, not knowing what time of the day it was, when you would get out. The bastard gritted his teeth. It was a clever kind of torture, he admitted to himself.

Jon stood to his feet, and he began to pace. No, no... he couldn't lose his head like this, he refused to. He had to think, the pieces of the puzzle had to fit together somehow. He must remember.

Jon's mind paced back through what it still knew. He was Lord Commander of the Nights Watch, for a time, voted by his brothers as they saw tactical genius and strategical wit within him. He was able to hold the wall against a hundred thousand wildlings and two giants, after all. All by himself. Jon grinned as he reminisced on this feat. His greatest victory, indeed. And he was not the only to bask in that victory, the Watch did just as much. They'd accomplished quite the feat, after all. A hundred men had bested an army ten times bigger than themselves.

But, no... that wasn't enough to go on. That brought him nowhere closer to the truth. The conclusion of his rather unfortunate situation. Of where he was, how he got here, how he could find a way back home. His only place was at the Wall.

Jon tried to remember his family. Ahh, yes... there was his brother, Robb. His best friend and his greatest rival. He could never bring himself to feel hatred toward him. Then little Rickon, who was never quite old enough to understand what being a bastard meant. And there was Bran. Jon could only remember how'd he fell from that tower, and lost mobility in both of his legs from the impact. He always wanted to be a knight, not a cripple... Jon reminisced wearily. And then there was Sansa, who Jon had never clicked with as well as his other siblings. She was old and mature enough to know and understand the stigma that came with what Jon was.

Jon's thoughts drifted over to his lord father. Eddard Stark of Winter, long-faced and dark-haired. Many people had pointed out the striking resemblance Jon bore to his father whilst making small talk. You may not have my name, but you have my blood... the last words his father had spoke to him echoed in his brain. You are a Stark, and do not forget that.

Lady Catelyn, Lord Eddard's wife and (in technicality) Jon's stepmother would disagree with his fathers words if she heard them, Jon remembered. She despised him, only because he was another woman's son. We don't want you here the bitterness and anger in her voice bit away at Jon's conscious. You are not one of us. Jon felt as weak as a small child again as he recalled how cruel and undermining that woman had been to him his whole life growing up in Winterfell. How was it a sin to be born?

Jon's eyes snapped wider as it all slowly came back to him.

Suddenly, he remembered.

His father, beheaded as though he were a common brigand at the order of a false king... a long and terrible war... his brothers, slain...

His first love, Ygritte, killed by Jon's own hands...

Bitter anger and sadness pierced through Jon's being as the memories flooded back to him. As he recalled all the horrors that had happened to his family, all that he had done, everything that he had seen and heard...

Jon wanted out.

The Lord Commander rushed for the steel door of his cell, banging his fist against it, ramming his weight into it with no hope of it budging. "Hey?!" he called. No answer. He continued to push and knock against the steel, hoping someone on the outside would hear him. "Let me out!" he almost demanded it. And still, no reply came.

Jon grunted, spinning away from the door in frustration, his fists balled up. He kicked his fur-cloak away from his with his foot as he passed up, marching back over to the bed, flopping down onto it and staring at the wall.

Jon wouldn't sleep that night. He'd only lie awake, wracking with regret and self-doubt at how hard the truth of his reality had struck him. He felt weak, vulnerable, scarred...

He felt as though he wanted to sob and weep for those he had lost, yet all his tears were frozen up.

[Darth Vader]

The concrete wall of his cell was beginning to become a bit of a boring sight for Jon.

His gaze hadn't moved from it since he'd made the conscious decision to give up bashing against his cell door. He'd layed down, but sleep was something that he refused quite outright. His pallid, droopy eyes did not flinch away from the spot on the wall he'd chosen to glare at all night. He'd stayed in the same position on the bed, mostly, with his back turned to the cell door and arms hugging around his chest, his head resting against the thin, uncomfortable pillow they'd so graciously provided for him.

"Almost three-thousand of the North's men were at that wedding... and not one could save my brother" Jon mumbled to himself as a bitter reminder. He'd heard the tales of what they'd done to Robb far too many times for his liking, and now he remembered them. Roose Bolton had plunged a dagger in his heart, and when the deed was done, they'd decaptitated his brothers corpse and stitched the head of his direwolf to his lifeless, sunken body. Then they'd paraded him around the Twins on horseback, calling for all the people to see their king. "The King in the North!" they yelled, over and over as they pulled him along the streets. What a mockery.

Jon had felt only hatred toward the men who'd failed to rescue him from the clutches of death and betrayal, until Jon realised that he was just as guilty as any bannerman of House Stark. Where was he when Robb was off fighting for the North's freedom? Beyond the Wall, a world apart. He had done his duty to the Watch and his sworn brothers by not breaking his vows and running off down South. But in that same sense he'd betrayed his blood family. If he was there, Jon questioned himself, could he have saved his half-brothers life?

When you join the Nights Watch, you leave your old family behind, and make a new one... Jon remembered. His uncle Benjen had first told him this when he'd rode south for the feast at Winterfell, held in celebration for the king and his family visting the North's capital. Jon hadn't believed his uncles words at first. When he first arrived at Castle Black, his fellow recruits were more intent on beating him bloody in the training yard than actually learning how to swing a sword and what stance one should hold when fighting. But Jon eventually decided that it was better to stand with his future brothers than against them, and when the time came for him to take his oaths and become a man of the Nights Watch, Jon found a place of acceptance amongst his sworn brothers which he had never truly back at Winterfell.

Jon Snow's true place was at the Wall, there was no denying that fact. As a bastard, he could never be a piece nor a player in the endless cycle of politics and shifts of power. His life and wellbeing was of little significance to the high, proud and might lords of Westeros. He was forever condemned to be an outsider, and the Wall was the only place that would take him in a more or less of an equal. He remembered why he had chosen to take the black in the first place - to win himself a shred of glory, and exert his skills as a leader and martial commander. He felt content knowing he had achieved that much.

Jon smiled slightly as his doubts and anxieties were put at ease...

Only to snap back to reality as the quiet sounds of footsteps became audible, coming from outside his cell...

"Get it open" a grizzly and somewhat familiar voice commanded. In a few moments, the cell doors parted, a red-helmed man entering. One Stormtrooper flanked his side, and the other stood vigil outside, armed and alert. Jon spun around and sat up on the bed, facing those who entered...

Jon gulped, recognising the helmed man in an instant. DREDD.

"Ser..." Jon addressed the Judge, biting down hard on his lower lip as he glanced away. This prompted a snigger from the Stormtrooper at his side. "You'll address the Judge by his proper title." he spoke up. This caused Jon's rather neutral expression to drop, as he shot a glare toward the soldier. "It's quite alright..." the Judge lamented in response, Jon's brow perking upward at his calmness. Dredd turned his head to look at the trooper next to him. "Wait outside" he ordered in a notably firmer tone. "Hrmmph..." the trooper grunted in response, turning around and taking himself out at the Judges' whim.

The Judge waited until the Stormtrooper was gone before talking to Jon again. "Sleep well?" he inquired. Jon's eyes narrowed. He didn't even respond, rather just stared at him, letting the dark, heavy bags under his eyes answer for him. Had the Judge really come to him to make small talk?

"Do you want me to explain all that happened, or would you grant me back my weapons so that I may leave?" Jon inquired in a monotone, dull voice. "We're already aware of what happened" the Judge retorted, taking a few small steps closer to Jon. "We've spoke with the other two we caught already. A child was in danger, and you stepped in to help." Dredd continued and concluded. Jon's eyes widened a tad at that. Crona... was he alive?

The Judge must have noted Jon's slight change in expression, for his shifted a bit in a similar fashion, lips twisting and curling. "The charges of assault and battery, destruction of property and disturbing the peace are on you, all the same... he sighed. Jon looked away, still not breathing a word.

"What is your name?" the Judge finally asked. Jon brought his gaze up to meet with his, though it was hard to tell where he was truly looking due to the helm he adorned. He was cautious of giving the man his identity, but denying him would do him little justice is presenting his case, either. "Jon Snow..." he answered quickly. "Jon... Snow..." Dredd repeated the name he had just given out, letting the sound of it roll on the tip of his tongue. "Well hear me out, Jon Snow, will you?" he asked. Jon's brow raised slightly. "I'm listening" Jon affirmed. The Judges' question was clearly a rhetorical one, as Jon obviously didn't have much of a choice but to listen to him, but Jon felt the need to say it, still.

The Judge gave a single nod, drawing a sharp breath inward before beginning his speech. "I'd like to consider myself a fair and just man, Jon Snow. My role here is to merely make sure the law is upheld and adhered to, not to brutalise criminals or kick beat dogs" Dredd began to pace slightly as he spoke. Jon watched him all the while, listening intently to what he had to say.

"I can give you two options here, I can work with both" Dredd's pacing ceased, gazing through his helmet at Jon. "The first is that we release you, and restore you with your weapons. My men will guide you down to the lower tiers of the city, where you'll meet with Arnold Hammond, one of my appointed commanders. You'll take orders from him until the debts of your crimes are... repaid in full." Jon squinted. "And the other option?"

The Judge's expression dropped a tad at this, exhaling through his nostrils.

"The second is that you may go, but not without my men giving chase... you might escape the city. Might. That's if you know your way around well enough." the Judge spoke with a blunt harshness and seriousness in his voice. Jon's expression twisted into one of slight fear, eyes snapping wider with concern. "You might even make it to the gate, but you won't go any further than the Nexus. We have men posted just about everywhere. And if they see, then you'd best pray for a quick and clean death..." the seriousness in his voice became more apparent as his drilled on. The Judge let out a sigh, lips curling into a slight frown. "But... that's not what I want, here. You could prove yourself useful to us, Jon Snow. Continue working with us, and your co-operation wouldn't be without self-reward." Jon blinked a few times, studying the Judge well and hard. Perhaps Dredd was right about himself, he did seem a fair and even, to a point, honourable man. The sort Jon could trust.

"I... I understand..." Jon spoke after some contemplating, looking back up at the Judge. "I will not run. I'll complete whatever tasks you set out for me" Jon stated firmly, and with a certain resolute. Dredd let out a slight chuckle at that. "It's not I who'll be deciding what's in store for you. Your co-operation is dutifully noted, still" the Judge nodded, before turning on his heel, heading out.

Before leaving, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder at Jon.

"I'll send some men to retrieve you in due time, but you'll stay here for now. Be ready." he stated before making an exit, the Stormtroopers posted at the door following quickly behind him. The cell doors closed behind they as they went, barring Jon once more on the inside.

Jon just sat mulling on what had momentarily transpired for some brief time, before swinging his legs back up onto the bed, turning his body to face up at the ceiling. He gently closed his eyes, He figured he'd need all the strength he could get for later, so catching up on sleep was probably a better idea than any right now, since he was still locked up in this cell for now.

He would do the Empire's bidding, but only temporarily. The true goal of his stayed at the back of his mind...

He would find a way back home, no matter the cost.

[Darth Vader]

"Up."

The gruff, unfamiliar voice of a Stormtrooper at his beds side stirred Jon from his brief slumber, the white-clad soldier looming over him, cradling his weapon as though it were a newborn child. Snow steadily sat up, craning his neck to look up at the trooper as he swung his legs from the bed. How did he not hear him enter? Jon mused on the answer to that self-question silently.

He must have been able to salvage a decent enough amount of sleep - a few hours or so, he was assuming. He felt less drained and weary, relieved from the constant strain and struggle to keep his eyes open and his shoulders up. His body now felt much more stable, as though he could step onto his two feet fine without tumbling down to the floor from a lack of energy. The headache he'd suffered from previously had all but disappeared from his system by now -no doubt from his amnesia clearing up-, and the injuries and aches he'd sustained from the brawl in the streets the day prior had settled.

"The Judge told us to come fetch you. We're to retrieve your weapons for you and then escort you to the gate, per his orders" the trooper continued. Jon knew what they'd came for already, but the reassurance that they weren't here to take his head from his shoulders (as Jon had first thought they would, before the Judge payed him a vist) was still comforting enough. Jon slowly rose from the bed, wiping some fatigue from his eyes with his scarred, ungloved hands. Reaching down, he retrieved his black gloves and cloak, which he'd rested on the floor beside his cot since there were no shelves to hold them or anything. He carefully slipped the gloves back across his palms and fingers one at a time, sliding his fur cloak back onto his back, the cape draping down behind him onto the floor.

"Let's pick up the pace" the soldier ordered with impatience, beginning to move out from the cell with a still somewhat disgruntled Jon following his lead. A second Stormtrooper waited for them in the hallway, tapping some buttons on a pad to close the cell doors in the same manner as the guardsman that had brought him had here opened them. The two began their walk down the corridor, making no movement to restrain or chain up Jon as they went, much to his own surprise.

Now that Jon was half-awake and wasn't suffering from a concussion to the head anymore, he could see and observe the hallway much more clearer now than the glimpse he had gotten of it before. Pallid lights flickered every so often from above, running down the ceiling of the corridor. Every step forward they passed a cell door, and they all looked the same to Jon - barren and unbreakable metal to cage criminals inside. Letters were imprinted above each cell door, to give it a designation or recognisably of sorts, and the hallway they trotted down just felt endless. There was no clear exit in plain sight, and various sharp turns, twists and corners made the place more reminiscent of a maze than, what Jon suspected it to really be, a technological dungeon of a kind. Snow's hazel brown orbs flickered about once more. Lots of cells... I don't doubt they're holding a lot of people behind these walls Jon made a mental note to himself.

As his eyes snapped back to look straight ahead, he spotted one of the troopers leading him cast him a fiery glare through his helm; even behind the mask, Jon could instinctively tell the look he was getting right now wasn't a good one. Jon bit down hard on his lower lip, gaze turning away, and to the floor.

He's a fuckin' degenerate from Camelot just here to cause trouble... he heard the soldier's voice as he craned his neck back around. Why did the Judge make me be his escort? Jon's brow perked immediately upward, casting his eyes back onto the Stormtrooper at last. Camelot...? Degenerate...? What did he mean? From what he could see, the other trooper had paid his comrade no heed, still absent mindedly patrolling forward with a cocked rifle in his arms. It was almost as if he hadn't heard him talk at all.

"Ser...?" Jon piped up to grab the troopers attention, the white-clad guardsman turning slightly to meet his gaze. "Need something, prisoner?" the soldier spoke up in response. His voice sounded a little less hoarse than before, but Jon still didn't like the way he referred to him as prisoner. Hadn't the Judge decreed the opposite not too long ago? Jon drew a deep breath inward before speaking again, keeping a calm and surprisingly cool demeanour and composure about him. Being a disinherited bastard child he's had to deal with arses and fools all his life, after all, so taking things under the chin and moving forward despite suffering within was just naturally easy for someone like Jon Snow.

"You sai-" "I said?" the trooper immediately cut his statement short. The one to the left tilted his head in a slight confusion, though the one to the right, the other one who had been mostly silent the entire time, finally cocked his head to look at him, and was staring at Jon with unknown intent.

Jon blinked a few times, eyes narrowing a bit. He was doing this on purpose, Jon could tell already. It was a test, to see if he'd lash back or retaliate. Jon Snow knew better than to play into his hands.

"It's not important..." Jon muttered in response, eyes trailing back down to his feet. The Stormtrooper very nearly scoffed. "I'm sure it' wasn't..." the white-clad man grumbled from beneath his helm, head turning back to look straight ahead. The other trooper eyed Jon conspicuously for a few more moments, before he too turned back away.

Some steps later, and they'd apparently found what they were looking for. A big metal door, split and divided into halves at the centre. The material of it was a similar making to the prison-cell doors, though they looked much less strong and reinforced. A pad was etched into the wall beside the door, yet again similar to that of his prison block, aside from a few aesthetic differences, Jon could hardly tell them apart.

The quieter of his two escorts stepped forward, pressing a single button on the pad. The ring around the button he'd pressed began to illuminate with a blue-ish hue, a nonchalant ding sounding out as he pressed his finger into the pad, as if he'd initiated some sequence of highly technical or complex mechanisms that Jon's mind simply wasn't strong or advanced enough to comprehend.

Jon's brow raised slightly as the doors remained locked shut for some time. Shouldn't they open instantaneously? Did something go wrong? Snow's doubts were quickly put at ease, however, when the steel doors receded away from one another, revealing a small box of a room.

Jon quickly follow the Stormtroopers inside. The crate they'd stepped into certainly wasn't made to be spacious; it's walls were reinforced by the same metal as this whole complex apparently was, and yet another panel was strung onto the wall, this one quite notably different from the other one outside. From what Jon could see, it was engraved with numbers going from one to nine. In the lower left corner was a button with a bell symbol, and in the lower right was an illustration of what seemed to be two parting arrowheads.

Jon folded his arms, opting to keep behind the two Stormtroopers.

"Going down" the quieter of the two Stormtroopers said something at last, speaking with a certain monotone enthusiasm. The doors sealed together shut once more in a static movement, sealing the trio inside.

Jon felt the tiny room shift beneath his feet as the elevator began it's descent. He arched his brow slowly as his mind began to piece together what this was, exactly. The mechanism carrying them must have been similar to the manual lift back at the wall, though Jon doubted that there was someone at the bottom of it pushing a wheel to keep it moving. A place like this is powered by machines, not men.. Jon figured, glancing between the silent Stormtroopers silently as the three awaited for the lift to reach their destination, and for the doors to re-open once more.

With a ding, the doors separated after some moments of patient waiting, the two soldiers stepping out in an almost robotic fashion. Snow quickly followed suit, moving out into the next room. The armour, it was quite clear. Rifles and other weapons littered the walls, and crates and boxes were stacked in the room's corners. An ample sized table stood at the rooms centre, piled with an array of different weapons, both lethal and non-lethal in appearance.

"Take what's yours, and only what's yours" the trooper instructed him. "We'll know if you've stolen from us" he concluded with a harsh warming. Jon's lips curled into a tight line as he shot the soldier a glare of understanding. "Of course" Jon spoke merely in reply, moving up to the table.

Glancing down, he picked out what was his and what wasn't with relative ease. He snatched up his dagger and bow, sheathing the small blade at the back of his belt and slinging has bow at his back. He took up his quiver of arrows - noticeably missing some ammo as he'd fire some shots at Sivo yesterday. He strapped the quiver to his back in a similar fashion to the bow.

And finally, Longclaw..

Jon scooped the sword up with two hands, just holding it for some moments. A glove thumb ran across the blade's pommel - fashioned after the direwolf sigil of House Stark. The blade had saved his life countless times over, Jon remembered. Normal steel swords were no match for strong Valyrian steel, which couldn't be broken nor bent. What was he without it, Jon wondered. The sword was now more of a momento to him, in more ways than just one.

This was the last thing left of his past. A reminder of a lifetime at the Wall.

Jon sheathed the sword at it's rightful place on his belt, turning back to the troopers.

"That it?" one of them inquired. Jon nodded silently in response.

"Let's get moving, then.." he murmured, the three packing back into the elevator, ready to continue onward.

[Darth Vader]

The chrome, colourless elevator doors retracted with a ding as the lift reached it's set destination. The two soldiers clad in white stepped out of the elevator with some impatient haste in their strides. The stark, darkly-clothed figure of Jon Snow skulked out soon after them, walking with much less liveliness than they did, though still making an effort to keep up with them none the less.

The area around Jon was just another maze of corridors, hallways and purposefully placed rooms, though this part of the complex admittedly felt much more cozy and welcoming to Jon than the holding-dungeon beneath them had. The lights above then didn't flicker or falter every so often, and the walls were coated with a much brighter colour and shading of paint; a tint of beige that complimented the place much nicer. Unlike on the floor below, every room they passed now had a clear glass window you could peer through. They passed by interrogation rooms, visiting areas, medical infirmaries...

"Prisoner Jon Snow is being signed out" one of the troopers informed the receptionist as they passed by the counter. Jon barely had time to glance back over his shoulder, they were in that much of an apparent hurry. The receptionist heeded the soldier's words, and began typing something down furiously.

Jon followed the troopers outside the Corucsant jail doors, and was greeted with a breath of fresh air...

And a view of the entire top-tier city.

Now that Jon had more of a chance to and felt less fatigued and confused, he took some time to absorb in his surroundings as he walked. The city of Corucsant was truly amazing, he had to admit. A marvel to the eyes of many. Tall glass towers and buildings dotted the horizons, reaching up far into the sky beyond. Mechanical boxes of a sort flied and whooshed about, circling from one area to the next. They were almost akin to carriages and wagons, Jon noted, though they were being pulled by no horse, and carriages couldn't fly where he hailed from. Big screens hung bolted from building-tops, illuminating with a piercing glow as the frames moved quickly, the board broadcasting news, reality shows, retail advertisements and the like.

As Jon and his small party reached the end of a ledge, they naturally came to a halt. One of the Stormtroopers peered up, scanning about for... something... as cars hovered and speeded past them.

And suddenly, a static noise sung from the radio strapped at the Troopers chest.

"Reading you loud and clear, Commander Hammond" the soldier tilted his head downward, arching his neck to the side to have his face closer to the radio's microphone. "Mhmm... copy that, we'll bring him through" the trooper gave a few nods to nobody in particular, before the static cut out to silence, the man's posture straightening back up.

Jon opened his mouth to speak... but then closed it again immediately after. What was is they were truly planning for him...?

Jon had a feeling that whatever it was, he wouldn't completely like it.

As they waited, and Snow became more and more distracted in his thoughts, the bastard turned his attention to one of the nearby broadcasting screens, the glass flashing as though it were about to change..

And it did.

It suddenly flashed to a rather peculiar scene. To Jon, at least. Two men stood opposite from each other in a dark, almost pitch black setting. They were dressed from head to toe in some strange gear. Headbands, sweat bands, black belts... a gong sounded out, and the two men paced from the shadows and moved closer toward one another. They were close enough to touch, at this point. They both pushed balled hands against their chests, bowing their heads to one another in some kind of initiation ritual or tradition.

They both threw up their fists to be in a fighting stance and posture, taking a few strides away from one another to give each other some distance. Some sort of build up music was audible in the background of things, the volume of it going up and becoming louder as the face-off being shown became more intense and suspenseful. (<!-- m --><a class="postlink" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EAwWPadFsOA_">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EAwWPadFsOA_</a><!-- m -->)

"FIGHT" a deep, gravelly voice demanded from out of nowhere. The two combatants began to advance on one another. One readied his fists, whilst the other threw up his palms in front of him. The one on the offensive threw a series of well-timed punches at his opponents face, yet each of his punches were blocked away by nothing more than his foes bare hands. As the attacker began to tire, the defender took his opportunity, Jumping up and planting an upward kick at his opponents jaw, flipping and landing away from him in an over-exaggerated fashion. The scene cut right onto his face, zooming into it slightly. A triumphant smirk formed amongst his many features.

He watched closely as his opponent recovered and bounced back to the balls of his feet, retaking his fighting stance as he returned the grin. The victor of the last brief engagement did the same, rushing toward his opponent, twisting his hips slightly as he swung his leg around for a roundhouse kick. His target narrowly avoided the leg by ducking, gripping his arms around the upper part of his attackers leg as he, quite literally, heaved him up tossed him over his shoulder.

The other fighter slid across the floor in defeat. It took some moments for him to roll over and recover, but by the time he did, it was already too late... his foe was on him, leaping up into the air with a clenched fist, ready to end this...

The scene slowed...

And cut out.

DANTE'S ABYSS the words now read out on the screen, large and bold enough for all to see. Are you strong enough to survive? was the tagline that accompanied it. Jon squinted a tad, trying to mentally fathom what it is he just saw and what meaning it exactly had, turning away from the screen and back to the two Stormtroopers that stood waiting patiently in front of him.

The one on his left suddenly raised his palm up as a different kind of hover car flew into view. It's colour was a tinted yellow, and the word CAB was written in a bold black colour on the car's door. The driver brought his vehicle to a pause as he stopped the Stormtroopers gesture, peering toward him, his arm resting lazily against the doors top frame, driving with one hand.

"Ya be needin' a ride, right, sir?" the cab driver inquired, tilting his head slightly. The Stormtrooper silently nodded. "Yes. Take us to the gate" the armoured man spoke in response. With a slight chuckle, the driver hit a button, the doors shifting open to allow them passage onward. "Hop right in, then!" the driver ushered them on. The more talkative of the two Stormtroopers was the first to board. Jon was shoved onward to be next by the other, settling down into a back seat between them.

"Buckle up" one of the Troopers nodded to Jon as he did his own seatbelt. Jon's brow raised, not really getting his meaning at first. The bastard quickly caught on, however, reaching behind him as he pulled free his seatbelt - a black webbing strap. The glanced around for the buckle to attach it to... and was clearly having some trouble with finding it.

"Allow me.." the Trooper said with a sigh. Snatching his seatbelt from his hands, he leaned across Jon, slotting the clip into the buckle with ease. The cab driver regarded the Lord Commander with a strange glare, taking a moment to absorb the bastard's appearance in before turning back around, pressing his foot against the pedal and zooming off once the Trooper would be properly seated once more.

The feelings that entered Jon Snow as the vehicle began it's motion was indescribable, to put it lightly. They soared through the air at good speed, the breezy, refreshing winds dragging Jon's long, curly locks around and across his face. They passed everything from here; the tall skyscrapers, the big screens, the glass windows and the other cars. You could peer down and see a whole other city beneath you; a whole other tier. It felt simply amazing, but Jon did a well and good job at hiding his enthusiasm. He could almost compare the feeling to flying as a free as a bird, if he wasn't being squashed by the shoulders of two well-built white-armoured men sitting at either side of him.

It didn't take a long time for them to hit their destination - the gate. The hover cab slowed as it lowered it's frame slightly downward, docking up against the ledge. The door opened, allowing them an exit. The Stormtroopers quickly unfastened their seatbelts and moved to stand, Jon following their own demonstrations. Pressing his gloved thumb against the buckles button, it quickly unfastened itself, the seatbelt flinging off from him.

He joined the Stormtroopers in standing, and the three moved off from the cab. The doors closed once more as they disboarded, the cab flying off elsewhere.

Jon squinted somewhat as he peered about his surroundings. He had expected to see a retinue of Stormtroopers awaiting him, but to his own surprise there was... nobody. Nobody that took extreme notice of his newlyfound presence here, anyway. The white-clad men on either side of him seemed to give not much care, either, marching on for the gate.

"Where are they?" Jon finally asked. "Not here" the trooper didn't even grace him with a look as he quickly responded. "Our orders have... changed slightly. We're taking you to the outpost in the Nexus, instead. There is where you'll meet Arnold Hammond".

Jon's brow raised slight. The... Nexus? Where and what was that?

Only then did he recognise the gate that was in front of them, and remembered where it was they were heading. The white void that was devoid of colouring and life and the fountain where he had awoke the day prior still stuck out clearly in his mind.

There and back again, it seems... Jon sighed mentally, bracing himself as they moved through the gate, a bright light flashing behind them as they moved on to the verse beyond...