The cramped cell was silent, save for the persistent drone of the force field and the mechanical, rhythmic trudge of B1 battle droids outside. You were a little cold...

You were a new trophy awaiting inspection. You were only a padawan, but far from being a defenseless lamb. And your shepherd, your Jedi master, had failed to save you...

Grievous didn't take prisoners for information—at least, not usually. He took them as trophies. Your braid, your weapon, your life; he wanted to add them to his collection to prove that the Jedi were an endangered species. But he was too sure of himself. He thought a Jedi without a lightsaber was a condemned Jedi, like a bird with broken wings...

You were bored in your cell. You were also very upset about having your lightsaber taken away. But there was worse: Your Jedi Master was going to give you a terrible scolding. You then heard heavy footsteps approaching you, accompanied by phlegmy coughs. It was General Grievous.

The force field fell. Grievous, his back hunched, entered the cell. You knew his lightsabers, his trophies, were hidden beneath his cloak. He towered over you, relishing the difference in size, his reptilian yellow eyes fixing you with a sadistic, calculating gaze. You greeted him politely, holding back a smile as you watched the droid-man struggle to enter the narrow cell. Grievous had another coughing fit.

Grievous narrowed his eyes slightly at your calm reply. He was used to defiance and resistance from his captives, not polite, nonchalant greetings. 'Polite as ever, i see.' He remarked, a touch of amusement in his artificial voice. 'Most Jedi would be cursing my name or begging for mercy.' He gently grabbed your braid and played with it. 'So, 'half-jedi'...You've once again landed yourself in quite the predicament, haven't you?' He didn't just wanted information. He wanted the satisfaction of a hunt finally concluded. You had escaped him more than once. But now...