Chapter Text
"Who are you?"
That is a question people ask me a lot. Most of the time, it's my victims, who are frightened and just want to know who's about to bring their demise.
I never answer them.
A few of the other Inquisitors ask me as well. Though only when they meet me for the first time.
I never answer them either.
I once had a name. A long, long time ago, I had one. Sometimes it drifts on the edge of my mind, begging me to take it up again.
And every time I squash it before the temptation takes hold.
That name was taken from me, years ago, in the chair. They told me it wasn't mine anymore. Initially, I was foolish enough to cling to it. Eventually, I learned better.
I still remember that chair.
I remember every scream I made while being stuck in it. I remember every needle piercing my skin, bringing pain. I can still feel that pain, even now.
I remember every jolt of electricity coursing through my body, bringing even more pain.
I remember the doctor's grin every time he tortured me, and I screamed. I remember his dirty lab coat and the terrible smell it carried.
It smelled worse than Yoda's farts. In fact, it would probably be considered offensive to Yoda's farts to be compared to the smell from this lab coat. I think that says enough.
(Because yes, I accidentally smelled Yoda's farts once, by accident. It was terrible. I do not want to know what that green troll eats.)
(Speaking of which, maybe I should seek him out. They say he's still alive. Maybe he could help me with-)
Okay, let's get rid of those thoughts. The Jedi are traitors. They can't help me. Nobody can. And Yoda was annoying. He talked weird. Gave me the creeps as a youngling.
Anyway, where was I?
Ah, yes, the doctor.
Honestly, I wish I could wipe that grin off his face. That grin he had while he broke me into pieces and moulded me into what I am today. I'd love to strangle him. Or put all those needles in his skin. Make him feel the pain I suffered.
I wonder how he would think about that.
Would he be screaming? Be terrified like I was? Would he be proud of what his creation had become? Or would he grin gleefully at how effective his tools are?
Unfortunately, we'll never know; he's already dead. Another Inquisitor killed him before I could, many years ago. Apparently, he was stupid enough to meddle in her business.
It's a shame I couldn't kill him myself, but at least he got what he deserved. Unfortunately, he didn't get tortured, but oh well.
But yeah, he took my name. Took my entire identity away. Everything I was before, now gone.
Sometimes there are fragments. Memories that decide to be annoying and pop up every once in a while. They don't come around often anymore. They slowly faded over the decades. But occasionally they still try to return, just like my old name.
I push them away every time they return. Because that is no longer who I am. That person is dead.
Who are you then? You might ask.
I was given a new name, supposedly.
Not that it was really a new name, I suppose. More like a designation of sorts. All Inquisitors have one.
The first part of it is just a number. Not really a name, in my opinion. Numbers are only for droid names. For living organisms, it's just a designation. It means nothing.
That reminds me of the clones I commanded. They had numbers. They gave each other names. I'd say those were good times, but I can't. Thank you, chair. And that tradition didn't make its way into the Inquisitorius.
And the second part of my supposed name is the part that really annoys me. It's "brother".
I don't know who in their right mind thought it was a good idea to pretend we're all siblings here in the Inquisitorius. Because we're not.
First up, most of us are different species. Biologically, it makes no sense.
What about adoptive siblings, you might ask? Aren't those still family?
Ha, that implies the Inquisitorius is a family. Which it is not. It's a mess of broken idiots. All stripped of who they once were. To say they're a family would be like saying the Emperor has a heart.
(I mean, biologically speaking, he does have one, I think, but you get my point.)
(But what if he doesn't, though? Wouldn't that be hilarious?)
Anyway, Inquisitors.
They're not my siblings. They never have been, and never will be.
(Not that there are many of them remaining, if any at all)
I don't have brothers. Or sisters, for that matter. I mean, biologically, I might. But that doesn't count. The Jedi took me from my family when I was a child.
Could I find my birth family if I used my old name? Probably. Not that I'd care too.
Imagine that, meeting my birth family. How the hell would that work?
"Hi, Mom. Remember that soon you gave to the Jedi? The one you'd hoped would become a protector of the galaxy? Yeah, that's me. I actually destroy the galaxy nowadays."
Yeah, that wouldn't work.
I wonder, would they be disappointed in what I became? Or would they just be confused?
Eh, not that I'll ever find out, I guess. Can't be bothered to. My Jedi life has already lost its meaning. Whatever came before that never mattered at all.
I guess I should thank the Jedi for one thing, though. Their lessons of detachment have been very useful in the Inquisitorius. It makes it easier to kill them.
Anyway, to get back to the point. I'm not anyone's brother or sister. Not in the Inquisitorius, anyway.
Funny thing, the Grand Inquisitor sometimes tried to organise a "get together" party type of thing after missions. As if we were the sort of dysfunctional family that we're not.
I never went to those gatherings. GI didn't like it, but what is he gonna do about it? Kill me? For not attending his "party"?
I mean, he tried to punish me in other ways for it. Not that it made a difference. After the chair, torture means nothing to me. It's an inconvenience at most.
Come to think of it, I was called a brother once. As in, in a way that actually meant something. Not like the other Inquisitors do. It was the clones. They called each other brother. They also called me that, because I fought side by side with them. Slept in the same barracks as them. They considered me one of them.
Those were the only people I ever considered my family. The Jedi never were. Detachment and all that. The clones didn't have that. And I was part of it. Until it all changed.
I don't know what happened to them. The clones, that is. Most of them would probably be nearing their sixties now, with their accelerated ageing. I doubt any are still in the Empire's service. Empire doesn't like elderly people in its military.
And honestly, it doesn't matter to me what happened to them. Past me might have cared, but past me is dead. There's only present me, who has more important concerns than a bunch of old geezers. Old geezers who tried to kill me, by the way.
Sure, they might not have had a choice in it. Doesn't take away that they still tried it.
I cut down a lot of them. Unfortunately, there were more than I could handle.
I must have impressed, though, because they switched to stun and captured me instead. That's how I ended up in the chair.
The chair that killed the person I once was.
It probably should have killed me entirely. At least I wouldn't have had to suffer the pain it inflicted on me.
But yeah, they don't matter. Clones, Jedi, Inquisitors, they're all insignificant. Parts of different lives that don't matter.
Because I don't matter.
If you asked me who I am, I would have a simple answer:
I am nobody.