He came to slowly. Breathing hurt terribly. He opened his eyes, then closed them tightly shut again. The lights were blindingly bright, or that might have just been his throbbing head. He tried to sit up, but his hand's weren't responding properly.

He was in wrist binders. The walls were a familiar shade of gray, no different than any other Imperial facility in the galaxy. He had been captured. Blast it all.

Another attempt to sit up finally succeeded with a wince. Focus. Check over his injuries, take stock of what he had. The blaster bolt had managed to get through, but the burn was only superficial, with some deep bruising beneath it. That explained the aching ribs. An experimental touch to his scalp came away sticky with congealing blood from a head wound just above his hairline. That meant the cracking feeling on the side of his face was dried blood. He had no idea if anyone had paid enough attention to notice it. He brushed away as much of it as he could. No, no, not the most useful way to spend his time right now. Take inventory.

He'd been searched, but not thoroughly enough. He still had the compact lockpicks hidden along his gumline, and the saw wire hidden in the hem of his trousers if those failed, a few small sealed capsules of breaching explosives he could use to get into the door lock. He could--

The door opened.

--He couldn't.

For a moment, he couldn't find his composure. He blamed the head injury. It was absolutely at fault for his transfixed staring.

It was him.