Rey sliced down with her lightsaber, taking off the stormtrooper's arm at the elbow. Blaster and hand flew to the side and the man fell back, tripping on the leg of the officer he'd been trying to protect. There was another gun there, another threat - Rey could sense it. She raised her blade … but hesitated.
The officer the trooper had been standing over … was just a girl. The small blaster was held in an equally small, trembling hand. Blood dripped down her too-young face. She was barely a teenager. With rasping breaths, the girl tried to point her gun upwards at the menace Rey posed - the very clear danger, maiming, destroying, striking down the Order with careless regard for life.
Even now, behind her, Rey could hear whoops of victory, cheers from the Resistance. And in that same moment, she could hear the whimpers of pain from the stormtrooper she'd cut down. The man she'd struck was desperately trying to pry his blaster from the dead fingers of his severed arm. In pain or not, they would fight to the last. But of course, Rey would have done no differently in his position.
She looked back down at the girl, who was staring at Rey's face. Her finger had frozen on the trigger, perhaps with the realization that the fearsome Jedi assassin who was about to be her end was … just a girl like herself. A few years older, but still. The girl glanced right and left. Rey followed the look. The battlefield was strewn with bodies - the bloody dead of the Order, blasted, concussed, fragged. Dead, for the most part. A few gasped their last breaths. There were so many. Now that Rey looked, now that she realized, she could feel the faint tremor in the Force as life drained away and death took its place.
She looked back at the girl. Resolve and hate filled the teen's eyes as she pulled the trigger at last.