The information is fake; she's sure of that. The coordinates are far too convenient. The attack is poorly planned. Even a non-military nobody like herself is aware of the red flags waving perilously close to Poe's smug, certain face.
General Organa expresses doubt and uncertainty, but once again, Poe insists on charging in like a wounded bull, bringing with him all the firepower available to the resistance.
His intentions are clear. Her intentions are not, but she keeps this knowledge well-hidden.
Poe craves glory. She craves peace.
Poe is reckless. She is bound by cautiousness.
Poe seeks retribution. She strives for salvation.
The strike force is assembled. The troops are gathered; young and eager. Some are barely out of their teens. Their faces reflect the nervous excitement growing around the room.
Poe leaves, and they all follow blindly; like lambs to the slaughter.
Transporters fall from the sky by the dozen; shot down by the imperial gun-ships lying in wait. It's a blood bath — an absolute ambush of death and destruction. She pilots their own doomed freighter recklessly, dodging tie-fighters and constant canon blasts assaulting the hull. The controls shudder and lurch in her hands as she screams at Finn locked away in the gunner bay, imploring him to do something.
Finn hollers back with foul language unbecoming of a former storm-trooper. R2-D2 whirls around frenetically; squawking loudly as he works to extinguish the electrical fires sparking in the engine bay.
A final blast renders them incapacitated. She sucks in a harsh breath; her eyes wide with fear as the freighter's engines finally give out. Chewie gives a roar of frustration as they crest for a moment amongst the stars glittering so brightly around them.
The momentum falters.
She curses that old-age proverb from her childhood; rendered mostly ineffective now by centuries of lightspeed advancements and gravitational capabilities.
What goes up, must come down.
Chewbacca's large hands smash violently over hers, almost crushing the fingers still clutched over the control yoke as they begin the shuddering downward descent. The planet below comes frighteningly into focus; growing larger as they plummet towards it.
Chewie's pulling back on the controls with all his might in a last-ditch attempt to get the nose up, and she lunges forward to help. He shoves her back into her seat; snarling at her to buckle up, and for once she obliges, her trembling fingers fumbling to snap the harness into place.
She tears her gaze upwards. A magnificent sea of green and white greets her through the viewing window, curved and peripheral. It would be a beautiful sight, if she weren't hurtling towards the planet at breakneck speed. She grips the dashboard until her knuckles turn white; shrieking Finn's name.
Chewie gives another almighty howl as something else smashes into them, something large; perhaps a downed resistance transporter. She screams as her body whips painfully to the right with the impact. The safety harness bites painfully into her skin as she's flung around the cockpit like a rag doll.
Her co-pilot is no longer at the controls; having been thrown across the cockpit. He lies crumpled and unconscious on the floor; his body sliding out of sight as the vehicle lurches thunderously once again.
She's alone in the cockpit now; the constant rattle caused by their growing momentum the only accompaniment to her shallow, ragged breathing.
"Finn?" she shrieks, twisting and searching for evidence of anyone still conscious. "FINN!"
All is quiet in the turret below.
They hit Ilan's atmosphere. The turbulence is unbearable. The jagged mountains are visible; frighteningly close, now. There's no escaping the inevitable. She gives a final, desolate scream; throwing her arms up in front of her face as she braces for impact.
The window blows out and her world turns pure, vivid white.
"FINN!" she screams; staggering free from the shattered windows of the cockpit. Her vision is tinged with red; oozing blood escaping from the cuts embedded within her cheek and hairline. She wraps her robes tighter around her, searching blindly for someone still alive within the smoking wreckage.
"CHEWIE!"
Nothing; just the howling winds and shards of ice buffeting her body painfully.
She spins around wildly; gazing upward and leaning against her quarterstaff for support. Sonic booms rent the air; accompanied by the unmistakable sound of engines failing. Another downed vehicle is falling from the sky, beginning it's almost graceful descent.
And she's running, now, dragging herself through the snow and ice in an effort to reach the crushed gunner turret.
Dropping to her knees; she digs out the debris with her hands, clawing through the ice until the turret windows are unearthed. Glass and ice are intermingled amongst debris. She barely registers the pain; her hands numb as she works breathlessly; the snow turning pink beneath her touch.
Poe's jacket is the first thing she sees; stretched tightly across Finn's unmoving shoulders. He gives a faint groan and her heart sings with joy. She wriggles herself in through the largest gap and unlatches the safety harness as another loud boom echoes nearby.
"GET UP!" she shrieks, pulling and dragging him with all her might. She has no idea where Chewbacca is, but Finn is here and he's warm and he's alive. "FINN!"
His limp body slides free of the turret just as a fireball engulfs the mountainside to their left. A blast of heat hits her, along with debris flying violently in all directions. Twisted metal is flung lethally close as she staggers towards the tree line, supporting Finn with one arm and glancing back as another resistance transporter loses it's battle to stay in the air.
The impact is earth-shattering. The shock-wave sends them both airbourne. She loses her hold on Finn, slamming into the snow at breakneck speed. She bounces several times, landing painfully on her ass.
She lay stunned; too winded to move. Red and orange now color her vision. Blood and fire; life and death. Elements shared by both the light and the dark side of the force. Mocking her. Whispering to her. Calling to her with the promise of power.
Demanding that she choose.
Movement. Footsteps. Low, muffled voices.
She pushes herself up into a sitting position; dizzy and confused. Finn's still body lies to her left. She senses his life force, however; ebbing and flowing weakly within him.
More footsteps. She reaches for her staff, fingers outstretched; summoning it with all her might.
She knows what's coming. The butt of the blaster strikes the back of her head with lethal efficiency.
Rey slumps forward. She knows no more.
The walls are filthy. There are indentations and pockmarks present, as well as random names scrawled heavily into the bedrock. She suspects they're the evidence of the thousands of people who have traipsed through this place, those feeling the need to leave some everlasting legacy of their existence before they succumb to the inevitable.
An etched name catches her eye and she gazes at it forlornly, tracing the roughened texture with the pad of her finger, blinking away the weariness. The hopelessness and despair. The worry.
Low moans and cries of pain rent the air; able to be heard even through the dense stone walls.
She sees without sight. She feels without touching. Darkened rooms beyond view, yet visible due to the threads of power weaving around her and through her.
The Force grants her a glimpse of images she neither wants nor asks for — hidden rooms within this icy prison. Pompous officers overseeing teams of indifferent stormtroopers and an unfortunate, tortured soul. Those so-called traitors to the cause — her friends — who now beg and plead for mercy.
Her resolve strengthens. She will never bow to them. They will never see her cry.
She sits huddled in the corner; her knees pressed tightly against her chest, rocking back and forward. It's a self-soothing mechanism learnt from childhood, designed to comfort but bringing none of the warmth she so desperately craves.
It's cold here. So cold. Her tired gaze falls to the motionless lump clad in rags in the far corner; her fellow cellmate. The nameless lump hasn't moved since she was first dragged in here seven moons ago.
Her trusty quarterstaff lies splintered and broken into a dozen pieces just beyond her reach. It has withstood so many dings, breaks and bumps over the years; bound back together with an almost revered diligence.
No amount of binding or reparation will restore it. She almost laughs at the absurdity of it.
Several shadows pass under the door, lingering for a moment and moving away just as quickly.
They don't quite know what to do with her.
The storm troopers are frightened of her. After all, Snoke supposedly died by her hand alone. Her reputation precedes her.
They're waiting for something… or perhaps someone.
And so she waits, too.
Ten moons, now. No company. No word from the outside. No knowledge of her friends and colleagues whereabouts or condition. Little to consume; other than the scraps of food shoved unceremoniously through the door, or the ice collecting in the corners of her cell. It melts within her filthy hands, providing a much-needed supply of water.
Her senses are heightened; acutely aware of every cry and scream and groan that resonates from beyond these walls. Fear threatens to overwhelm her and she punches it back, strengthening her resolve as she wraps her robes around herself in an effort to stave off the bone-shattering cold.
He hasn't made contact. She wonders if he's here.
She wonders if he's coming.
They won't break her.
This is where it ends.
Authors Note:
I'm trying something different. After nearly 20 years writing for a quiet but beautifully loyal fandom, I'm cautiously dipping my pinkie toe into the waters of the Star Wars Universe. I really enjoyed writing this. This will be a Reylo fic. It will get quite dark and ominous, but that's my writing preference and I make no apologies for that. Be kind, I was really nervous posting this!