t had been a few years since my arrival at The Prism. This highly classified facility was a self-sufficient prison designed to hold the absolute scum of the galaxy primarily powerful, captured Force users.
Crucially, only the Jedi Council Masters knew about The Prism's existence, a security measure that effectively guaranteed no one was coming to rescue me. The prison itself was run by just over a hundred hyper-efficient security droids, all taking command from a single, distant Jedi Master. This reliance on automatons meant that the subtle, traditional Jedi mind tricks were useless.
My cell, to my surprise, was alright. While the Jedi were self-righteous shitheads for throwing me here, they at least kitted out their high-security cells with surprisingly comfy synth-beds and full-spectrum hologram sets for entertainment.
If only the actual prisoners were more likable. Every single one of these dark side users carried a massive, collective chip on their shoulder. They hated the system that put them here, they loathed the tasteless nutrient mash that was delivered, and most of all, they hated each other for being weak enough to be captured.
I often wondered if putting Force users who grew more powerful through hate and anger into a confined situation where hate bred like rabbits was a monumentally stupid idea. It absolutely was.
The prison wasn't the brutal, chaotic den of violence I had expected. Instead, it was unnervingly smooth-running.
When you have droids planning and executing security, everything runs with the relentless efficiency of clockwork. The only things that were the same as the brutal prisons I had read about were the inmates themselves. They were behind powerful energy containment shields and something that diminished our connection to the Force, but they still tried their best to start fights and utilize their remaining powers.
I witnessed one dark side user threatening another, only to be instantly knocked out when his victim used a sudden, powerful Force Pull to slam the attacker directly into the vibrating energy shield. Force abilities could be used, but they had to be powerful and skillfully subtle so that the security droids wouldn't flag the incident. A flash of blue Force lightning was eye-catching and earned you a gas bath, but a person jumping in place, or even one being inexplicably pulled into an energy shield, was something the droids didn't take notice of or simply didn't care about.
One day, I observed the aftermath of a minor skirmish.
"Did you see that, Bailo?" an older Sith-wannabe in the next cell hissed through the muffled energy field. "That was a perfect demonstration of Force-augmented striking! But why didn't the guard droid respond?"
I took a large, satisfying bite of deep-fried sea squid. "Because, my friend, droids are programmed to see the effect, not the cause. Someone slamming himself into a wall? That's his problem. Someone shooting lightning at the door? That's a containment breach. You need to work within the parameters of their indifference."
People might think that staying in prison would be boring, and yet it was anything but. With so many powerful Force users, there was an incredible amount to witness and perceive. Floating, cross-legged, meditating Force users were common; there was a giant, six-limbed bug-like alien practicing complex lightsaber forms with a salvaged table leg; and the sight of a very angry Brotherhood of Darkness member discharging impotent blue lightning at the energy shield was almost daily entertainment. That last one invariably got a cell full of tranquilizer gas, because he was simply not subtle enough for the droids.
I, on the other hand, didn't have flashy techniques. But I was still spotted by the other Force users. This was likely due to the simple fact that I was eating things considered high-grade contraband. I was often standing there, watching others fruitlessly rage against the system, all while chowing down on perfectly deep-fried sea squid tentacles.
The Jedi had made a colossal mistake putting me in a prison filled with intricate, standardized technology. At first, I had no access to it, but with my un-noticeable, minute telekinesis, I was able to pull a screw here, steal a bolt there, and subtly flip a disconnected internal switch. Hey presto a cleaning droid
would fall over, right into my cell's energy field, or a security droid traveling along its silent track would suddenly fall off its rail and crash down. There were quite a lot of "accidents" happening around my cell for the first couple of months. This only stopped when I had accumulated enough materials to pull the metal walls apart and completely cannibalize the interior.
"How in the name of the Dark Side are you pulling those conduits out without getting gassed?" the Sith-wannabe asked one afternoon, genuinely impressed.
"Subtlety," I replied, carefully tucking a coil of high-density wiring into my mattress. "As long as the prisoner is still sitting here, and all of the equipment appears to still be working, then according to the droids, nothing is wrong. If the Jedi Master who supposedly runs this place was paying any attention instead of meditating or whatever they're doing, they might have noticed something. But they don't."
After that, it was plain sailing. I made rudimentary tools that I used to hijack the automated cleaning bots. With a cleaning bot under my control, I collected better tools and started to take over the small, insignificant droids that handle cleaning, and then moved on to the light fixture control systems. The biggest hack, and the most crucial, was gaining control of the repair droids that fixed torn-apart cells. They went everywhere. That's when my substandard food evolved into pre-packed, deep-fried nom noms from the kitchen stores.
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Given enough time, I knew I could run this prison, but taking it over permanently was unlikely. What's the point of being free to roam in a prison when you can't leave the grounds? There was no communication in or out, and no way to physically leave The Prism without a warship. I could free the population, but having murder-hungry dark side users running about destroying everything wasn't the best long-term choice for my safety and comfort.
Instead, I decided to trade with them. Food was my currency, and the only thing they had to offer was training in the Force. The Force was multifaceted; what worked for the dark side didn't necessarily work for the light side, but there was always a significant crossover.
I learned many new skills. A powerful dark side illusionist who had been caught by the Jedi after his fellow Brotherhood of Darkness members sold him out taught me the universal power of Doppelgänger. Strictly, Doppelgänger wasn't a dark side power, but a universal one but as I said before, there's crossover.
That was a hard ability to master, even with Force Enlightenment constantly running, likely due to the pervasive Force-dampening fields of the prison. Subtlety was the key during practice. I didn't manifest animals or plants because having life forms apart from the prisoner in one cell was suspicious enough for the Jedi Master to take a peek. Small screws, pieces of uneaten food, and minor replications are what I started with.
It didn't take long for me to get good. Learning the more deceitful ways of the Force came naturally to me. With the help of Force Enlightenment and my inherent nature, I was soon able to create a full course meal with all the trimmings, and a perfect, convincing replica of myself.
"You've created an actual roasted nerf steak, Bailo," the illusionist whispered, sounding genuinely impressed, "and it actually smells like freedom."
"If you can make it, I can eat it," I said, taking a bite. "Thanks for the lesson."
I learned more about the pure manipulation of Force powers and how to alter them from this collection of prisoners than I ever did with the Jedi. The Jedi were creatures of worry and panic. "Will I turn to the dark side with this?""What will happen if I lose control of this?" The dark side users just did it; they had already fallen and had lost all their panic when it came to learning new ways to manipulate the Force.
I, on the other hand, hadn't quite gotten over the destructive effects the dark side had on its users. I understood that objectively, there was no 'dark side' or 'light side' there was just the Force and the ways to use it but I have seen what the so-called dark side and its madness can do to a person's life and mind.
And because of this, I'm taking what helps me and repelling what hurts me. I have to find my own way not the dark side with its extreme anger issues that cause their actions to hurt themselves, and not the light side where you can't act like a living being, enjoy all the wonders that life has to offer, and embrace the staggering hypocrisy that the whole Jedi Order holds to their hearts. It's my way or no way.
As time goes by, the dark side users get angrier. They use meditation to sharpen their negative emotions and plan petty, evil deeds for the other captives. They aren't going anywhere; they are stuck here until the war ends or they die. Their anger only fuels what they might do to themselves or, worse, what they might eventually do to me.
I feel a strange sort of pity for them. Their emotions lead them to do horrible, self-destructive things, and those horrible things lead to greater negative emotions. They don't get the mental therapy they desperately need and just delve deeper into the spiral of madness.
I tried to reason with them, but a few choice, logical words from a stranger didn't help them. So instead, I just befriended them or at least, tolerated them. Why not? It's not like they could actually kill me while they were securely contained in their cells.
Some dark side users weren't worth the effort. One idiot with a particularly powerful mind control ability tried to Force-bind me to her will, hoping to secure my contraband goodies. The stupid git didn't realize that for many years I was a Force Healer, and Force Healers must continuously cleanse their minds from interference to be efficient. I held eye contact with her while continuing to shove food in my mouth. I answered her shocked look with a sad little shake of my head.
"It won't work, sweetie," I said, mid-chew. "You need to try less hate and more finesse. Or just ask nicely."
Others would resort to rude hand signals. One dark side user raised his fist in a threatening way, and blue lightning dramatically rolled off his fist and down his arm. It looked undeniably cool, that was until a security droid caught notice and edged closer to the cell. The dark side user quickly hid his arm behind his back, looking sheepish and caught. That was worth a small chuckle from my end.
The next day, when the lighting-fist dark sider woke up, he found a bowl of creamy root mash and a cup of bitter, real coffee waiting for him outside his shield. In prison, a small chuckle is always worth rewarding.
I played mental games, studied the Force, and ate anything worth eating. It was a very numbing experience. Our physical needs were filled, but our souls were hungry. At times I felt profoundly anxious, so much so that I started to copy an inmate's rigorous monk's fist martial arts routine, just to stave off my negative feelings. I realized something: I don't like exercise without purpose, but I already knew that. What I truly hated was this creeping negative feeling, and while the focused exercise tired my body, it also drove those intrusive feelings away.
With time, I've completely gutted and rewired the mechanical components behind my cell to such a degree that I'm now able to slip out of my cell entirely. Of course, I leave a lifelike doppelgänger in my place, just to make sure.
How am I getting past the droids? I put myself on the facility's whitelist. I am seen by the droids, but they don't have any programs to stop a whitelisted individual. Finding the whitelist was easy, as there was only one person on it the Jedi Master in charge. Putting myself on the whitelist was hard, requiring me to disassemble and reprogram my holotube. This was why I had been watching the other Force users a lot to provide an alibi. I still avoided the surveillance cameras as much as I could; I didn't want to be recorded doing anything too unusual.
It's a shame that I can't trust the inmates to keep their mouths shut, but I know that if I were to walk out in the open and be spotted by them, they would instantly use all kinds of methods to escape, including blackmailing me to get them out. Subtlety is the absolute key to this type of sustained freedom.