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Chapter Text

The sunrise of Elisor is gold, in both beauty and value.

Some folks pay thousands, even millions to wake up to that sun for just a few days. You don’t need to be told that to know how special the sunrises are – no matter how often you lay eyes on them, how quickly they disappear or how long they linger… There aren’t enough words to describe it in any of your 38 languages. 

It’s a shabby window frame to look through – some unfixed thing that barely manages to cling to its hinges; especially if opened or closed too hard. The tiny bed – half your size on a good day – is tacky from the humidness the recent rain brought through the unaligned window, and the dented metal bedside table isn’t much to hold anything but a lamp that only turns on with a hope and a prayer. But worst of all – truly and utterly terrible – is the view of the sunlight over the Vally of Koge.

The Kogian population are a quiet tribe of flower salesmen that bother no one, and thus, go unbothered. They’re nice people, all kind-faced and sun-spotted. They give you the odd poppy for your trouble, sometimes.

Their fields glitter with the light on the wet poppy petals something firey; shimmering and separating and kaleidoscoping like rough-cut rubies with a thousand faces – glowing, washing the sky to a light teal – the colour of the feathers that Jaywings sprout in the long summer. The clouds, all tinged and muddled with gold – gold spun and weaved to the wealthy’s clothes; and pinks like the candy the children run with by the handful, dropping and trailing it behind themselves.

Elisor has been your home since you’ve had memories – maybe even before that. There were never any other pine forests to play in, never any other stretched of buildings to walk through, never any other grasslands to till. Not that you could remember. 

A knock on your residence’s door tears your eyes from the sunrise. 

“(Y/N)?” Missy calls, muffled behind the metal of the door. “(Y/N)? I brought you breakfast!”

You blink slowly, head still foggy from some dream about lizards and mountains and flight pods. 

“Yeah, come in, Missy.” You rub your head, yawning. “Sunrise’s great this morning.”

The doors slide apart with a familiar hiss, and Missy waddles in – all curves and eyelashes – to throw your tray of food on your lap (splashing orange juice on your sleep clothes) and ignore you, pressing her rabbit-like nose against the window.

“Right clear day, it is.” Her breath fogs up the window as you rearrange the utensils that fly everywhere. “You can see the lake from here.”

“Not if you steam it all up, you can’t.” You chuckle, throwing a balled-up napkin at her head – it bounces off the side without affecting her concentration on the beauty outside.

You look down at the tray on your lap – eggs and bacon, strawberries and blackberries and a glass of milk – bigger portions on a better plate than you usually receive. And in bed, too…

“Why did you bring me breakfast, exactly?” You hum, looking down on the tray. “I mean – thank you – but why?”

You put a piece of the flaky bread in your mouth and it melts on your tongue, all buttery and soft instead of the cold, hard sawdust shit you normally get. You almost moan at the taste; it’s only when people throw stuff like this away that you get a taste, but a whole meal of it? You must be dying, because this is heaven-

“Lord Barques wants you well taken care of today, to do your best for the arriving company.” She smiles, patting down some of the frizzy bits of your hair. 

Your mouth dries up immediately, and the overwhelming urge to spit out any food you’ve already ingested, out. “It’s the 16th, isn’t it?”

“It is,” She says softly, chuckling slightly. “You forgot, didn’t you?”

You run your palm over your face, cringing. “More like I was so terrified I made myself not remember. Sixigoe wa , I thought I had more time-”

“Hey, hey-” She circles to hold your hands and look you in the eye. “You’ve been translating for The Clorifium for almost 18 years. If you were going to mess it up, you would have by now!”

Your eyebrows knit together. “How is that helpful?”

She rolls her eyes, “Look, it’s just a business meeting. You’ve done a million-thousand of these.”

“This is my – our, Barques’ – first encounter with the First Order. I don’t know what they want or what they’ll say!” Your eyes widen, thinking back on rumours around the Clorifium’s main floor. “I’ve heard, that if you get the wording wrong on a translation, they’ll know, and shoot you on the spot.”

“Who told you that?” She baulks. “Besides, you have Barques. You know he loves you, he’s not going to let them touch you. I mean – just look at this meal! You’re his favourite, and he has a lot of servants, so take it with pride. You’re an asset. He needs you, they need you.”

You huff as she brushes a piece of hair from your face. “I just hope you’re right.”

“Nothing bad is going to happen. I promise.”

You offer her a small smile, taking her hand. “Thanks, ki’lor .”

She purses her lips, trying to recall the late nights you’ve spent teaching her different words from around the galaxy. “That means… Lightbulb?”

“Close,” You snicker. “It means sister.”

From an awkward angle – sitting in bed and her standing at your side – she hugs you, and hands you a hairbrush. 

“You have the easy job. I’m on linen washing for two weeks!”

“I bet they need all the help they can get with the First Order here and all?”

She shrugs. “We’ve had no extra orders. Juli says they’re not staying, here to get shit done and leave, I guess.”

You move to the mirror and start brushing your hair in the shabby bathroom as she flops on your bed, dramatic as ever. 

“Are you huffing about Trok again?” You snicker, bearing her a glance. 

“Ugh, barely.”

“So, that’s a yes.” You bite your tongue in a smile.

She scowls. “Technically, hypothetically, for the time being – yes; I suppose I’m moping.”

“Ugh, Missy!” You groan, chuckling as you slip your dress over your head – pink and yellow with a cold metallic neckpiece, just like every other servant girl wears. “Seriously, just drop him!”

You tug her up from the bed and down the long hall of servant quarters towards the elevator at the end, which slides open with a squawk.

On several floors, other servants – three girls and a man – join you to line up and prepare to ascend to the main floors.

“-I mean really, and he doesn’t have time to just kiss me when we pass?! I mean, hello?! Am I asking him to build a podracer from scratch – just a little consideration would be nice-”

“Shush, Missy.” You chuckle at her never-ending strain of complaints as the elevator dings. “Quiet down.”

The casino floor of Level 9 is just as packed as it always is – perhaps even more so now that the dustwaves in the East have stopped kicking up. People bounce to and fro from shiny, spinning table to brightly-lit machine, trying to suck as many credits from the other patrons as possible. The lively music bounces around the dim interior, through clouds of scented smoke and the chitter and chatter of a hundred voices having fun.

You all keep your heads down as you pass by patrons towards the servant maintenance tunnels.

If not just for its sunrises, Elisor was known for another thing – perhaps, an even more marketable thing. 

Gambling.

If you had to name a third thing, you’d say beaches – though mainly enjoyed by the young wives of older, wealthy businessmen and the children they bring along. White sand, pale as snow and warm to the touch, never too hot or too cold – not even at night – runs up and down the stretch just outside the Clorifium; for about a mile North, until it trails up and into the Akaska Downs, and two miles South, until it snakes around to the Plas’coen River.

But the big, heavy machines with bright screens and massive levers to pull down sat all types of beings at them – pink-oyster-snarfling Baragwin, high-faluting Nobillian in sleek dresses and matching hand-fans, a shorter Tarlafar screaming at the screen, several Gand piled around one machine. You could easily say there were a hundred, if not a dozen-hundred different species on this floor, stretching from the bar – serving smoking Korfuq Frostillia and shimmering Golden Gelms – to the sound of clinking and whirring and trills of the Jackpot machines.

The Clorfilium is a grand structure, one of ten grand sky-thatches built by Lord Barques’ lineage and ruled by him just as equally, raised on the beaches of Elisor as restaurants, destination shopping, luxury hotels, and, of course, gambling. One of the last places where it’s legal in the whole of Elisor, is the Clorfilium.

Missy walks beside you – it is kind of Lord Barques to allow the higher-level staff on the premises, as with lots of tourism, comes lots of rumors and terrible horror-stories.

Some places in the Far Qua Reach, require servants to stay unclothed at all time – a mansion in The North Paxor where sleep is a luxury – and among them; the First Order. No names, no movement throughout daily life without an escort, constant reprimanding and insurmountable stress…

“You look pale.” Missy whispers lowly, eyes down as you move through the corridor in our neat group of 6 – the very least you can do is look presentable. “Are you thinking about it still?”

You scoff and hiss through your teeth. “What kishl’ar am I supposed to think about instead?! My birthday?”

“It might help you calm down – you’re sweating.” She says, glancing up at you.

Passing through the ‘servants only’ doors – a big grey metal door that opens with a hiss and a puff of steam – your heads lift in freedom, and the girls in the back start twittering to each other as the music of the casino floor starts to get further and softer.

“Worrying kills you twice, that’s what I always say.” She frets, rubbing something off your cheek with her thumb.

You purse your lips. “What if… I don’t know, what if I screw it up? What if they…”

The thought does run through your head.

All weapons, large and small, are confiscated upon entry to the Clorifium – gambling and weapons tend not to mix – but these stormtroopers will be armed; heavily so. As a ‘welcomed guest’ (meaning that whatever they offer is enough for Lord Barques to bend the rules here and there for them) they’ll be granted permission – as if they need it – to keep all blasters primed and ready at all times. 

What if they shoot?

Through the grapevine, you all know the terrible deeds they do – and worse than that, you know how these things start; a comment out of place, a stray hair falling to the ground, a pin dropping.

“Nothing bad is going to happen. Barques won’t let it, you know that!” She rubs your shoulders gently, patting your back.

The door to the suspended connecting bridge approaches much too fast.

You simply stare at it, as though it might change; change into a doorway to the countryside, to the beaches down below, far away from here.

“You’re going to do great.” She smiles at you, allowing the rest of the girls to pass her by. 

“I’ll see you after this, okay?” You swallow. “Lord Barques has left tomorrow free of meetings in need of me. I could help you with the washing?”

Her green eyes are shiny as you look back at her. “Yeah. I’ll see you in a bit.” 

Chapter Text

Sometimes, it's a waiting game - especially with older species and the less technologically advanced ones. Or, maybe the clock above the door is late… By almost 17 minutes.

The long, large hallway by which guests – whether they be several of the same species, parties, or, in this such case, armies – arrive is lit by the same dim windows and light panels as

You can feel your heartbeat in your chest.

There were many things said about the First Order – many, many stories; many, many truths – and none were kind, save for the ones the men in the casino rattle off after one too many Yellow Spritz’s. Something tells you the kindness they extend to the regime is a monetary, numeric value only.

They are unkind, brutal, monsters who have no right or want to think for themselves, and the thought – the very presence of them on your planet would make you angry beyond any measure if this were any other situation. Yet sadly, it is not any other situation.

And then there’s the power of a name. Names said to clear rooms in seconds flat, to cause panic and chaos and prayer. 

Kylo Ren and Armitage Hux.

Leaders of such an unkind movement, of such a government that defies all human needs and wants and desires and inspires uprisings just to get some semblance of life back into the galaxy… 

There is a prayer, in Vo’rai-ian. 

I thank the stars that never let me see harm.

You find yourself whispering the words, shivering with anticipation.

You feel sick to your skin, like a jolt in your bones that has nowhere to go.

You’ve only seen rinky-dink ships before – tiny little things that whiz up into the skies and explore a galaxy you have no want or need to see; the thought makes you a bit sick. The ships lining the landing deck outside, barely visible through the angle of the window next to you, make those ships look like landspeeders. They’re square, grey, and look like they could hold… Armies. Battalions.

Just how many of these things are coming?

The doors at the end of the hall slide open, and a hiss of steam marks the arrival of a seven-by-seven square of marching stormtroopers, all dressed in white, shiny armour and big, bulking headpieces. One at the front marches up to the bottom of the short staircase you stand at and turns to face the wall as her squadron files in.

They looked like aliens, so inhuman and cold, just… Carbon copies of unindividualized creatures over and over.

You swallow down your own beating heart as several more troops – one more, then three more, then enough to stretch to where the door closes and beyond – march in, all in time, with the same cadence and rhythm. There must be a hundred, even a dozen-hundred men in front of you – worse than that, a dozen-hundred blasters, as each pair of hands on the front line of their squad carried one, and each man behind him had two at his hip.

The stormtrooper – the one who had led them all in – with the red pauldron, marches forward in front of the centre of the closest troop and turns to face you at the top of the stairs.

You swallow again, your mouth dry as sandpaper. 

She looks at you for a long time, and there’s a budding feeling of ‘Who talks first?’ in your chest. You bow low at your waist, straight back, with your arms behind – just like you have a hundred-thousand times before.

“Welcome, Captain.”

“Where is Lord Barques of The Clorfilium?” She asks, her voice making you jump at how plastic-y and modulated it is from under her helmet.

Your voice is weak, and the fluttering in your chest feels like a small bird is trapped in your ribs.

“He resides within the Commerce Hall. I welcome you all, on behalf of my Lord, to the Clorfilium.” Your hands shake behind your back as you give the proper and well-rehearsed greeting, given to all whom it applies to.

You swear you hear her modulated sigh.

Her hands reach up, and remove her helmet with a hiss, letting her short blonde hair flop out. Her human face is pale and gaunt – blue eyes, blue as the sea, pierce through you as if she’s sizing you up, determining if you’re lying.

“Rise.” You straighten, and she tuts. “I am Captain Greene of Infantry 705. And you are?” 

She sounds almost sceptical, and hostile. You smile gently for her.

“I am (Y/N), your assigned Speech Translator.” Your chin goes up a bit at the pride you take in your job. “Lord Barques insists on all guests who do not speak Rhobo to use my services.”

She looks you up and down again and seems to nod, begrudgingly.

“Alright.” She turns over her shoulder. Her shout makes you flinch, and the stormtroopers in groups two, three, and four break to line the walls, while the first one advances behind her as she climbs the steps. It sours you a bit, in a way servants shouldn’t sour.

Like she owns the place…

You glance wearily at the stormtroopers as they approach, and she halts them at the base of the stairs when she reaches the top. You could tell she was tall, but here, she towers over you easily. You must look so stupid, eyes all wide as dinner plates and shaking, pale. 

“Lead the way.” She hums, disinterestedly.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding, and nod, hurrying along ahead of her with your head down. In less than two strides she catches up to you, wordlessly indicating she intends to keep you at her side. Her marching soldiers, still in their terrifying seven-by-seven and walking perfectly in time, silently, stay a few paces behind. You can’t help but notice the blaster – twice the size as the ones the regular troopers have – at her belt. 

“So, you’re a translator?” She twists her mouth, refusing to look anywhere but dead ahead.

You want to argue – it’s far more than that – but she looks at you, and your sudden goal becomes focusing solely on a spot on the floor to track as you move, lest you meet her cold gaze. 

“Yes, Captain Greene.”

“I should like to assume you’re suitable for your job.” She asks.

Trying not to take the insult straight to the heart, you smile. “I speak 38 languages, reaching from the outer belt of Histor to the local dialects of Crixor.” 

Her eyebrows move ever so slightly – you’ll take that as a win.

“Hmm… And he’s taken no droids for this role?” 

“Lord Barques insists that translation droids have a margin of error too large, and a brain too hardwired for letting secrets flow. As well as that, they often need upgrades to learn local dialects.”

“I see.” She hums. 

As you two walk slower, just by a margin, the troopers do not, and you feel yourself bump against one and trip – Captain Greene catches you roughly by the arm and rights you unceremoniously.

“Thank you, Captain.” You offer her a shaken smile and look back at the marching troop over your shoulder.

“Impressive, aren’t they?” Her voice is dripping with pride, like the venom from a fang. 

You feel your spine stiffen slightly, as you look over their giant, unblinking, bug-like visors. “Indeed, Captain.”

“Good.” Her tone is arrogant and proud. “They are the backbone of the First Order. Trained and disciplined to perfection. I’m sure your Lord will be thrilled to have them in his presence.”

You nod stiffly and move ahead of her to knock twice on the large doors to the Commerce Hall. Two servants, Heleni and Sirvus, swing the large doors open, offering you a small smile as you pass. 

Walking through the hall is all but second nature to you, and you’re quick to climb the stairs up to the throne platform.

The walls are tall enough to fit a few spaceships stacked on top of one another, and wide enough for it too. Grey metal with white panelling and decorative light boxes in the walls surround you, and the doors close behind the troop.

Lord Barques is a mound of a creature, light blue and spherical as a beachball, in golden robes and threads, lounging sideways in his golden throne, fanned and fed by two servants you’ve not met. Adorned with the face and tusks of a Walrus, and flippers to match, it’s hard to find him doing much else besides sleeping or eating.

You move to his side, standing just below the level of his throne on the stairs and facing the incoming Captain, who stops her swath of soldiers at the base of the stairs.

“Announcing the arrival of Captain Greene of Infantry 705. Welcome, to the domain of Lord Allias Barques, fifth of his house to finance and own the Clorifium resort.” Your voice echoes off the large walls of the Hall, circling back to the triangle of importance; you, the Captain, and Lord Barques. 

Sweat beads at your forehead, your throat tight. 

Lord Barques opens his flippers widely, speaking his home dialect of Rhobo.

“ Welcome, Captain, to the Palace of Plenty, the towering city in the East, the Clorifium .” You translate. “ You and your troops are more than celebrated here .”

Captain Greene pays you no mind, maintaining a tight smile at Lord Barques, even though his words are coming out of your mouth.

“Lord Barques,” She greets, coldly, and you translate her words back to Rhobo for him to understand. Maybe Missy was right, this is the same song and dance it always is .

She opens her mouth to say something, but Barques interrupts.

“ So ,” You stiffen at the words he says, letting them flow out of you as though they were your own. “ Kylo Ren refuses to come see me himself, does he? ”

Her expression confirms that was the wrong thing to say. Your stomach twists at the silence that follows, but at least she’s still refusing to look at you. Maybe I should’ve twisted his words…

“Kylo Ren is indisposed at the moment,” She says after the shock of such a question wears off. “He was unable to attend.”

The tension in the air aches your shoulders.

“ Are you authorized to speak on his behalf? ” You translate, gasping slightly at the words that spill off your tongue, almost uncontrollably.

She stiffens then, and the stormtroopers seem to straighten up ever so slightly. You flinch and grit your teeth.

“I am authorized by General Armitage Hux to speak on behalf of the First Order.” She says simply. Barques lets out a wheezing, chittering laugh then.

“ I jest, I jest. ” You translate, though the Captain does not seem any less unenthused. 

“Ah.” She says, voice and face tight.

“ There are many things I welcome you for, today, Captain; as it is by the hand of the First Order my forefathers founded the Clorifium .” You translate. “ And it is by my hand you shall reap the rewards of my kingdom .”

She nods. “Noted.”

“ We have plenty of resources – resources that may instil my reign for years to come .” You translate as he chuckles. “ Does that ship of yours perhaps need any extra hands aboard? ”

“The Finalizer?” She asks. “Any pair of hands used for the First Order is a pair of hands we would gladly accept. We search for skilled and loyal individuals to join our ranks.”

“Wonderful. Shall we say 300? 400?” Your gut wrenches as you speak his words. Where would he get 300 men to give to the First Order? All I can say is that I’m glad he needs me.

Her blonde eyebrows lift. “Can you spare that many?”

“ Spare? ” You translate as he whistles a laugh beside you. “ For you, they were born to serve .”

She considers the offer, and nods then, smiling ever-so-slightly – perhaps more than she is permitted to. “Alright, we accept the donation of 400 to our cause.”

It doesn’t slip past you that out of the two numbers she was given, she chose the highest.

“ In return ,” You speak his words. “ I ask for an increase in the Lithonium resource revenue. ”

Her face angles, twists and frowns again. “How much of an increase.”

“ Fifteen percent. ” 

She mulls it for a second, chewing on air as she grinds her teeth in the suddenly silent room. “Lord Barques-”

“It will help my Lord keep the locals ‘ inline ’,” You say, allowing yourself the paraphrase. “ Since the change of the government and allegiance to the First Order, it has gotten harder for people to be and stay… Obedient .”

You swallow the bile that rises in your throat, the adrenaline of the situation wearing off and the truth sets in. 

Captain Greene looks him over and nods stiffly.

“Very well.” She says. “I will let General Hux know of this development. I’m sure he will be more than pleased to accommodate this, and in turn, we have an offer for you.”

“ A deal? ” 

“Let’s call it a-” Her hand drifts to her belt where the blaster resides. “Requirement.”

Your heart thrums, and you gasp, biting the corner of your cheek to keep from making any unauthorized sound. 

“ What might that be ,” Your voice shakes as you translate, Lord Barques sits up ever-so-slightly in his chair. “ Captain? ”

She straightens then, letting her hand drift away again. Your legs feel like jelly.

“This system is small.” She says. “It’s unimportant, save for your luxury resort here on Elisor. Your neighbours are small, herding populous’, and your star is dying.” 

Your eyebrows knit together. Well, if she was looking to get in good… 

“However,” She continues. “We have scoped the landscape of the neighbouring uncharted body of Hig’ath. It is primed and ready to be cleared, claimed for the First Order.”

“ For what purpose? ” You translate Barques’ snorfling. He’s fully invested now, leant forward further than you’ve ever seen.

“Classified.” She says simply, quickly. “However, we’ve heard an unfortunate rumour of Resistance scum seen on this planet, coming and going as though you let them.”

The tension hurts. As though it’s begun snowing in here, a freezing chill rises gooseflesh on your exposed arms. Barques takes a long time to respond but leans back in his chair when he does.

“ People come and go as they please, ” You speak for him. “ I have no way of knowing who may be amongst the court. ”

She gives a tight smile and dares to begin the climb up the stairs to Barques’ throne, passing you with no indication she cares for your presence.

“We are aware. Which is why we’re asking you to station stormtroopers at all exits and entrances to check incoming and outgoing personnel.

Barques stutters, and it scares you. He’s usually so in] charge and on top of things – so confident, to see him sweat is like losing faith in a deity.

“ Captain Greene, that is incredibly detrimental to business- ”

“So is a bullet through your skull.” She says, easy and smooth like she’s saying anything else.

You gasp but silence yourself, and translate with your head down – unable to look at her. Barques considers this, sweating and tripping over the words you’re supposed to speak for him, and nervously glancing around. Your stomach hurts.

“ Alright, Captain.” You translate as Barques laughs nervously, trying and failing to diffuse the tension. “ You have a deal. ”

“Smart man.” She nods to him, and just like that, moves to turn and leave with her troops, who split again and line the walls for her to pass through.

Barques says something then, and as the words hit your ears, it feels like you’ve been hit. It takes a second for them to register – maybe longer, as the Captain turns to see why what he’s said hasn’t been translated yet. 

You stand, frozen, sick. He didn’t… He wouldn’t… Not to you-

Captain Greene’s eyes are on you then, waiting impatiently. “What did he say, girl?”

Barques repeat the words, and you feel tears well up, watching him, as though this is some kind of joke – a sick joke, a fucked-up, cruel joke.

‘Osh Kat cara-Valour’

‘You can take her with you.’

Chapter Text

Everything feels slow. 

Your breath can’t fill your lungs the right way, your limbs feel tingly and cold and limp, your head is spinning.

‘Osh Kat cara-Valour’

‘You can take her with you.’

“Lord Barques…” You say to him, in Rhobo, fully ignoring the armed death squad in front of you. Pale, crestfallen, your eyes water. “You… You can’t-”

“I asked you, girl-” Captain Greene spits, quick to be ready to chew your head off. “To tell me what he said. Now.”

You swallow, a hollowness inside you. “He’s… He has offered… Me. To escort and offer my services… Permanently.”

“ Kinge a’r ros klat .” Barques says, some other servant dabbing his forehead.

“ As a gift. ” You translate, a shuddering breath filling your body. 

Your feet feel like stone, like you can’t move; like you can’t breathe-

“Very well.” Captain Greene says, uninterestedly. “607, 102, escort her to the transport.”

Your eyes widen as two stormtroopers' heads swivel in your direction – the two in the first line fo the left row. Captain Greene flicks her hand, and the troops – minus the two beginning to advance towards you, consolidate and march for the door.

The two stormtroopers – unindividualized and looming – move towards you with arms outstretched, as if to grab and pull you. 

You blink and turn to him.

“ Master, I -” You say, in Rhobo.

“ Silence. ” He snaps back – a tone he’s never taken towards you. He’s pale, still shaken up from the encounter. “ I’ve made my decision.”

“But-” The stormtroopers approach, and it’s all you can do to back away and up towards his throne, shaking, your breathing is uneven and heavy. You rush to his side, tears brimming as everything happens all too fast-

“ No, please- Lord Barques, I’ve been so good to you- ” You cry, tears flowing down your cheeks now, warm and salty. “ Please! ”

Your hands move to tug at his robes, but he pushes you off him, down to the cold floor.

Hands clasp around your upper arm and tug, pulling you down the stairs without giving you time to adjust or stand. 

“No!” Your scream echoes off the cold walls, the servants at the door and behind Barques flinch. Somewhere, muddled between languages, you beg like you’ve never begged before. “ Nish! Nix an- No! Please, my home is here- I want to stay here-”

Thrashing against the stormtrooper, they tighten their grip on your skin, hard enough to bruise.

Aside the Captain and the last row of troopers, you’re dragged to the hallway, and Heleni and Sirvus – eyes watery and faces pink – close the door behind you.

“Let’s go, come on – get up.” The left stormtrooper commands and pulls you roughly to your feet.

“I- My things-” You manage out, looking away just long enough for them to handcuff you with a blinking, metal device.

“You’ll be given new belongings on the Finalizer.” Captain Greene brushes past you three to keep up with the back of her troops. “Keep her in line.”

You sniffle, halfway between coughing your lungs up from crying and swallowing what tears you have left. Your chin drips with tears, your vision blurred as they kick you along the corridor, pushing and shoving you the way to the Reception Hall, where the troops from before are missing.

Looking around for anything, anyone that can help, is useless – until a pair of eyes, watching you all pass with a terrified and searching gaze, locks onto you.

“Missy!” You cry, craning your head to see her.

“(Y/N)!” She drops her basket of linens and chases after you, catching up just far enough until a trooper stops her from advancing, some ten feet behind you. “Where- What’s happening?! Where are they taking you?!”

“Run!” You cry over your shoulder. “Get far away from here – just go!”

She looks terrified, her eyes all deep and sorrowful. “(Y/N)-”

They hold her back, and it aches you to see their hands on her, knowing there’s nothing you can do – nothing you can ever do. 

“Just go!” You scream. “I’ll find you!”

And then one pushes her, making her drop her basket and fall backwards.

Heart thrumming, feet moving faster than you’d anticipated, you slam your body into the guard on the left – just hard enough for him to stumble and release his bone-wrapping grip on your arm. 

Sliding, fumbling and racing toward her, you hug her, scrambled and awkward, but your arms link hers and you hold her close, just for a moment. “I’ll find you.”

There are only miliseconds between the feeling of something connecting with your head and the world going blurry, black.