Chapter Text
One day, it rains on Jakku. Heavily.
Rain is, as far as Rey knows, not an important event on most other planets. It comes and it goes. There are occasional sprinklings of it that she’s witnessed in her ten years on the planet—and none she can remember from the time before—and she’s mesmerized. She watches for a while from the mouth of her hollowed-out freighter. It drums on her outstretched hand, and she slowly turns her wrist, marveling at the sensation. She’s never seen water like this.
Rey snaps out of her reverie long enough to secure barrels outside the freighter. She hopes to collect enough water to hold her over for at least several weeks: good, clean water—her own water.
It’s like a dream. She stands in the rain with her eyes closed for several minutes, just enjoying the water on her skin. She’s fantasized about it before. She’s fantasized about lots of things: rain and trees and great big lakes. Family. Friends.
Rey opens her eyes.
A black ship descends from the storm clouds. A prison ship.
| | |
The subterranean prison of Jakku is considered one of the most secure in the galaxy: there are very few ways to escape the planet, and runners risk death from exposure and the dozens of dangerous animals roaming the dunes. The desert is bitterly cold at night and blistering during the day, and there isn’t water to be found anywhere except Niima Outpost.
Rey found work in the prison after years of hunting for scrap among the ship graveyards; most of Jakku found work in some capacity in the prison. She delivers meals to the prisoners and sometimes cleans when cells are emptied out.
She’s proud to work for the Republic—for Leia Organa and Luke Skywalker. It’s an honor.
Rey enters the prison through the myriad of hydraulic guarded doors and finds everyone she passes talking about the rain storm the night before. She wanders down the gray and white halls to her station, in the second kitchen on the second floor. She’s curious about the prison ship. Who did it drop off?
“Rey.”
She turns and comes face-to-face with her supervisor, Gor. He’s an alien species she doesn’t know. Something with lots of tentacles and eyes. They’re wearing the same gray one-piece uniform issued by the Republic, but his isn’t tailored to his form.
Gor beckons her with one of the green tentacles sprouting from his head. “You’re needed on the third level. A new prisoner arrived, and the non-humans are sensitive to his… miasma. You’ll need to bring him something to eat.”
“Oh.” Rey nods, smile faltering. “Okay.”
Gor doesn’t really like Rey. He often sends her off to downright terrifying prisoners.
She reports to the deepest level of the prison. The supervisor isn’t around, so Rey finds the prisoner’s cell number and finds a standard human breakfast. It comes in a pouch that swells with water, much like the portions she eats.
Rey carries the meal in a covered dish down the long, empty hallways. The prison is quiet, with white walls and gray floors, and there is rarely a speck of dust to be found. Leia Organa wouldn’t allow people to live in misery, even if they’ve committed crimes. She cares about the people—about people like Rey.
It takes some searching, but Rey eventually finds Cell 626. It’s down it’s own hallway that is flanked by two guards with big guns, but neither of them is interested in Rey. She walks to the end of the hall and stops before the enormous, windowless white door.
Her gaze wanders down the side of the door, along the wall. She spies green and red flecks of liquid. Food, she tells herself. Food that was dropped.
Some like to slide open the grate and push in the food, but Rey thinks that’s a little unkind. She knocks twice, hesitant, eyeing the stains on the wall.
“Hello?” she calls. “I have something for you to eat, sir.”
There is no response. Rey slides open the grate and pushes in the container. It’s the most dangerous handful of seconds in her job. She’s been spat on, splattered with venom, slapped with tentacles. Her uniform protects her, but it’s still—
Something light and spindly creeps up the nape of Rey’s neck, and she quickly rubs the area, shuddering. She twists around in a circle pawing at the collar of her shirt, searching for an insect. The prison is very clean. Maybe she brought something in on her change of clothes.
Rey closes the grate without saying anything more. The odd sensation clings to her as she walks off; it intensifies, soft skittering morphing into an ominous clawing pull. But when she reaches the end of the hall, it snaps free. It vanishes as quickly as it appeared.
“Thank you,” Rey mutters to the guards.
They silently watch her leave.
She returns upstairs to Gor. He seems surprised to see her, widening all his beady yellow eyes.
“It… went well?” he asks.
Rey nods, looking around the busy kitchen. She’s being stared at.
“Yes,” she replies. “Is there an issue?”
“We were informed that efforts to control his abilities were largely unsuccessful. It’s difficult to imprison someone like Kylo Ren. He nearly killed the first three attendants we sent.”
Rey’s smile drops from her face. The noise of the kitchen fades as her heart gives a powerful, painful beat.
“K-Kylo…?” She swallows. “Kylo Ren?”
“Leia Organa felt this was the best facility to hold him. He’s been fitted with a device to suppress his… abilities… but it isn’t as effective as the Republic had hoped.” Gor taps on his data pad. “I will notify the third floor that you were not injured.”
Rey shakes her head, stepping back. “B-But—but what if he—” She lowers her voice to a hoarse, urgent whisper. “Kylo Ren nearly killed Luke Skywalker, sir!”
“Well, count yourself lucky that you are not Luke Skywalker, then.”
Gor slithers off without another word. Rey crosses her arms over her chest and swallows the lump forming in her throat, awash with terror and anger. Why did Gor send her there with no warning? What if Kylo Ren had decided he felt like snapping her neck?
Rey struggles through the rest of her day. Not even her barrels full of rain water can cheer her up.