Good news, everyone. Very, very good news. I located where the knock-out gas for the security system is stored. A simple maintenance protocol droid led me right to the supply room. One perfectly anesthetized Jedi Master later, and I am now the sole, undisputed master of this entire station.
This was The Prism's profound, single-point weakness. With only one powerful Jedi Master serving as the human failsafe, I only had to rewrite the access passcodes once. It was ridiculously simple, far easier than the subtle, months-long effort of whitelisting myself. I know there's no way off the station, and yet that doesn't mean I won't make the situation as comfortable as possible. I quickly added a note in my file declaring my status as "Deceased in Transit" and edited the video security feed so that my cell perpetually displays a static image of me meditating.
Now, I have absolute control. The droids ignore me completely. The security cameras only capture my projected double. I have access to every system on the station, and if I want to, I could gas the only powerful, remaining Jedi Master at the drop of a hat.
The other prisoners are still a problem, and I have to diligently keep up the appearance of being just another contained inmate, for I know they would report me the second they got the chance. It hardly matters if the inmates or the Jedi Master even know that I've essentially "escaped" they can't do a thing about it.
All of this was possible thanks to the Jedi being complete, arrogant amateurs in droids and computer understanding. They fundamentally look down on the usefulness of such skills. They choose to study the esoteric aspects of the Force and meditate, but little else.
I'm currently watching the Jedi Master through the security feed, where he is visibly struggling with his daily meditation. It's not his fault he's having a hard time. I've been pumping specific, small, untraceable amounts of a synthetic cognitive disruptor gas into his personal quarters. The reason is simple: I cannot afford the Jedi Master receiving any potent precognitive visions about my complete control over the station. So, I poison his mind slightly while he's awake and put him into a dreamless, deep sleep when it's time for bed. The Master is exasperated; he knows something is fundamentally wrong with his connection to the Force, but he can't pinpoint the cause.
I'm fine with all this. I can't leave, so I might as well make the best of the situation. A nice little side effect of my focused Force studies is that I can now produce a form of lightning without needing strong, negative emotions. By taking some aspects of Force Lightning, Force Shock, and Ionize, I produce streams of energy from my fingertips. It's still a bit weak, but the effective distance is fantastic. The other drawback is the color: blood red.
"Why couldn't it be a decent purple?" I complained one day to my reflection, practicing the discharge in the confines of my cell. The red energy crackled menacingly. "I feel cheated. The dark side gets that beautiful, vibrant blue. Mine looks like… a poorly regulated heat coil. When people see this, they will automatically think 'dark side, bad, kill.' I will continue to work on it."
/++++++\
My self-improvement wasn't giving me the internal joy it once had. What was the point in becoming more powerful and vital in the Force when I couldn't use it for anything meaningful? It wasn't enough for me to simply sit and wait.
That's why I introduced a highly customized, regulated game of ping pong to the inmates.
The initial reaction was predictable. I had a cleaning droid wheel a pristine table and paddles into the common area. They crushed the fragile balls and shattered the cheap table tennis rackets instantly, pissed and moaned in their usual dark fashion, and flatly refused to take part in such a "frivolous, light side activity." That was before I announced the rewards for the winning player: guaranteed, fresh-made fried food from the stores a feast compared to the nutrient paste.
Let me tell you, when Force users play ping pong, the game becomes infinitely more interesting and deadly.
I laid out the rules clearly: the game was the same as normal ping pong, but you could use your Force powers as you saw fit as long as you didn't destroy the equipment or physically damage the opponent. The consequences for breaking the rules were non-negotiable and immediate.
Each game was held in a specialized, empty single-room cell, just big enough for the game, which I had secured and designated as the "Arena." Two opponents entered and were sealed in with energy barriers, then surrounded by additional, heavily armed droids that I manually controlled. Crucially, if the duo of dark side users ever decided to stop playing and instead work together to attack the cell structure, I would instantly pump in the knock-out gas and render the two players unconscious. All of this was done under the nose of the increasingly befuddled Jedi Master and was broadcast to the other inmates on their holoscreens.
The spectacular feats of each player instantly shone through as they both tried to outdo each other. Force powers flowed like water to manipulate the game. Flips and tosses, instantaneous deflections, ducking and diving everything they had was used to win points. When one tactic was found to win a point, a counter was quickly developed. This game perfectly showed off the brutal, competitive, and creative aura the Brotherhood of Darkness had lost in their isolated cells.
"Come on, you fool! Use a Force push! You're playing like a milk-drinker!" one dark side user yelled at his opponent, who was trying to finesse the ball with a weak telekinetic grip.
"I'm conserving my energy, you overblown brute!" the opponent snarled back, before the first user delivered a powerful Force Slap to the table, causing the ball to fly off at impossible speed.
Of course, some thought they could escape. One arrogant Sith attempted to use the energy of the game to charge a focused Force barrier, clearly intending to break the wall. A quick zap of my red justice a sharp, disciplinary crackle of my homemade red lightning calmed him down instantly.
"Rule one: Respect the table," I broadcast over the cell's internal comm, my voice electronically deepened to sound like an authority figure. "You forfeit the fried squid, and the game is suspended."
If that didn't work, the gas was the immediate answer. The best players were those who had mastered a lightsaber form and applied the focus and fluid movement to their paddles. The speed at which their arms moved was a sight to behold, anticipating the unpredictable path of the Force-manipulated ping pong ball.
The inmates genuinely enjoyed the ping pong, or maybe they just liked the competitive outlet and the promise of actual food. It wasn't all smooth sailing, though. I had entirely forgotten about the dark side's ability to receive fragmented visions. Thankfully, the prison and whatever dulled their Force abilities stopped them from getting a full, clear picture. I know this because none of the inmates has pointed me out, but I do see them with their shifting, narrow eyes, watching me in the common area and then glancing back at the security feed displaying my double.
One day, the illusionist leaned against the energy field, his face troubled.
"Initiate Bailo," he hissed quietly. "We are all seeing… changes. Flashes of power where none should exist. One of the newer captives, a prophet, keeps muttering about 'the tiny god who serves fish.'"
I just smiled, holding up a piece of fried squid. "It's the food, friend. It's so good it makes you hallucinate. Now, are you ready for your match? The communal nutrient paste depends on you winning."
I don't know what to do. I can't gas them all, can I? The collective vision of my control might be fragmented now, but given enough time, the scattered pieces will assemble themselves into a terrifying, accurate portrait of my power.