Another Way

1

Jango had been in captivity, been enslaved, nearly two years now. As much as it went against who he was he complied—he took the orders, he did the bidding, he played along as well as he could without pissing anyone off. He tried to help other slaves, and they shunned him at first but gradually accepted him once he stopped rebelling foolishly.

Because he was Mandalorian, the ones who controlled him made him fight often, more than other workers. Honestly, he wasn't sure what even was being built but he was glad to leave the mud and the sun and fight something, anything he could take his rage out on.

And at the end of the day he'd return to the mass lodging haphazardly erected in the dirt and sleep in his corner, nursing bruises and split knuckles. Not much changed. Slaves were often brought in, never being sold, only dying of exhaustion or malnutrition or beating. Most were men, some were near-human males. A small portion of their number were female, most of them being of a species where the females were just as strong or durable for hard labor, while the others were...entertainment. For both Master and the few unsavory slave males who were probably once in control of slaves of their own. He beat those ones up best he should without getting the whip himself.

So, it wasn't surprising when he heard the chains and the jeers of the masters when another slave woman was brought it. Looking at the entrance, he saw when the woman was shoved through the door. She was raggedly dressed, only what barely qualified as a tunic hung over her. It was split down the middle of the top.

He was surprised when he saw that her collar was thick—thicker than any of their own. He legs were still chained together, close enough that walking must be difficult. Her wrists were also manacled, but looser, to a belt on her waist that was locked from the back. His own feet were chained because he was a threat, greater than most others, but what could this woman do? She was slight, malnourished, and had bags black as the void under her eyes which were dead enough to hide the blue. Her skin was too pale, her veins were discernible from here, and her hair was shorn unevenly about her ears. It looked brown, but might have been blonde or some other color if it weren't for the dirt that coated them all.

She was shoved again and fell, hard, into the compact dirt. The doors shut, and all went to her, the women helping her sit up and one man offering her his last bit of bread. She took it, thanking him.

"What is your name?" One asked.

Around her bit of food he heard, "Obi-wan."

"Obi-wan." They all repeated. Most dispersed after the morose welcome, and he went similarly. He wondered how long she'd last.

Once again, unedited, not very researched. Please forgive errors :)