This is my first Rebels fanfiction! Yayyy...(random applause in background) I have just started to watch Rebels, so I'm only a few episodes into Season 1, so don't kill me if I screwed something up!
To Be A Rebel
A young Mandalorian stood in a darkened alley belonging to the Empire, spraying graffiti all over the wall. Having been painting for a while, the picture was almost complete. The mural consisted of a battle scene where the Empire had fallen.
The teen swept a lock of blue and orange hair out of her eyes and added a finishing touch to the painting. In the right-hand corner, she sprayed what she called her logo. She added this to each and every graffiti mural she did. It was a Starbird.
She knew it infuriated the Empire because they could not catch the one behind all the acts of vandalism, but they knew of her presence because of the Starbird. The Mando picked up her magenta helmet from the duracrete and stepped back, admiring her handiwork. She jammed her helmet back on her head and stuck her paint guns in her belt just as voices echoed down the alley.
Uh oh, time to go, she thought, glancing down the alley. Sure enough, there were two stormtroopers headed her way.
"Hey, you!" The first one called, raising his weapon and breaking into a jog. The Mandalorian bolted in the opposite direction, the stormtroopers following close behind. She ran but hit a dead end as the alley ran out and ended at a duracrete wall. She turned and pushed her back against the wall, hoping that somehow a hole would open. One didn't.
"We got you now," the second trooper snarled, pulling a pair of binders from his belt. The Mando fumbled in her own utility belt, searching for an explosive paint bomb but by the time she managed to locate one, the troopers had her by the arms, her wrists secured in front of her by the binders.
"We finally caught the little troublemaker who's been wrecking our stuff," the trooper on her left spat, tightening his grip on her bicep. The teen grunted and tried to pull her arm from his grasp, only angering him and causing him to grasp her arm even tighter.
"Let's take her to the commander," his comrade replied, jerking his chin in what the young Mando believed to be the direction of one of the Empire's many command centers. "Move it." He snapped, shoving the young girl forward.
She growled through her helmet but bit back a snarky reply. She walked willingly enough with the troopers, only slightly walking slower than they liked, only to be prodded forward with a blaster barrel to the spine.
"Ouch! Hands off, demagolka," she snapped, beginning to struggle violently. Demagolka was Mando'a for war criminal or human monster.
"What did you just call me?" The trooper snapped, trying to rein in the struggling teen. There was no reply, only kicking and squirming. She managed to kick the first in the groin hard enough to make him fall.
"Ha, guess your armor isn't all that tough now is it?" She taunted. The second trooper silenced her with a hard knee to her gut. She doubled over with a cry of pain. Her helmet fell to the ground with a clatter.
"Maybe that'll calm her down," he joked to his buddy, offering him a hand so he could stand. Both laughed as the young Mando retched violently on the duracrete, crying out as she did so. "Careful you don't step in that," the trooper taunted as the two of them yanked her to her feet. The Mandalorian shouted again as she was pulled roughly upright, but managed to grab her helmet with her bound hands and jam it back on her head.
Her knees buckled and the troopers dragged her away, booted toes trailing through the vomit on the duracrete, leaving wet streaks behind.
"Let me go, you shabuirs!" She coughed out, her stomach still aching from the armored knee it had received. Shabuir was also Mando'a, meaning something similar to 'jerk', though much, much worse, something too foul to show here. The troopers ignored her shouts and cries of protest, though they did tighten their grip in response to her struggling. All the way to the command center, the Mandalorian teen shouted insults and curses in Mando'a, only to be "rebuked" by the troopers, usually another knee to her gut.
At last, they arrived, the teen was bruised and sore and even more angry than seemed possible. The troopers threw her to the ground in front of their commander.
"And what do we have here?" The commander asked in a slimy voice, staring distastefully at the young girl doubled over before him.
"Caught her painting graffiti in an alley, sir. She's the one we've been looking for, sir." One of the troopers explained, nudging her with his toe.
"Good work, troopers." He said. "Get up!" He shouted at the Mando. She stood shakily up, trying to regain her balance. The commander yanked her helmet off her head and set it on a nearby munitions crate, revealing her dyed hair and fiery brown eyes. Her lips were pulled back in a defiant snarl, revealing her clenched teeth. "What were you doing in the Empire's sector today, Mandalorian?" He asked in a sickly sweet voice.
The Mandalorian said nothing, only tipped her chin defiantly. The commander darkened his gaze and backhanded the teen across her jaw. Hard. Her cheek pinked quickly and it stung like heck. She cried out but still said nothing.
"Take her to the detention center for processing," the commander ordered the stormtroopers, handing the teen her helmet. She took it and jammed it on her head, hiding her fury filled eyes and bared teeth. The troopers gripped her upper arms and turned her roughly. "Off you go now," the commander said in that same sickly voice he had used earlier, swatting at her as you would a bothersome loth-cat or an akk dog puppy, telling them to go away.
She whirled, ripping her arms out of the stormtroopers' grasp, surprisingly strong for her age and small stature. She yanked her helmet off to show the evil man her angry eyes.
"Don't you ever touch me again." She snarled, contempt practically dripping off her tongue. The commander said nothing, but backhanded her jaw again, reddening her cheek an even darker shade of pink. The commander frowned. The Mando turned around, replacing her helmet to its proper place, protecting her head.
"Take her away!" He barked, sweeping his arm in the direction of the detention block. The teen was pulled away, kicking and screaming. One of the troopers finally resorted to hauling her over his shoulder and continuing on to the detention block, the teen screaming when her abused stomach met armored shoulder. She kicked and screamed, pounding her bound fists into the soldier's backplate and beating her toes on his breastplate.
During all this, a Twi'lek on a reconnaissance mission watched the young teen being abused by the Empire's dogs. Staring in horror as one stormtrooper hauled her roughly over his shoulder, she followed them, ducking behind crates and boxes. Pulling her blaster from the holster strapped to her boot, she snuck up behind the trooper who wasn't carrying the Mandalorian teen over his shoulder and shot him in the head.
"Hey! What?!" The second trooper said, confused. He dumped the young Mando on the ground and raised his weapon. Before he could aim, however, the Twi'lek shot him dead. Holstering her blaster, she kneeled beside the downed teen and asked,
"Hey, are you alright?"
The only reply was a pained moan.
"Can you stand?"
Taking the hand that was offered, the young teen stood shakily, clutching her stomach. She promptly fell over again, unconscious, when the pain blossomed into something she had never felt before. The Twi'lek sighed and crouched down, gently probing the teen's stomach with gentle fingers. Though unconscious, she groaned and shifted away from her hands.
"We gotta get you out of Imperial territory." the Twil'lek decided, pulling her com link off her utility belt. "Spectre Two to Spectre One. Come in, Spectre One."
A voice crackled over the link.
"Spectre Two, this is Spectre One. Ready for pickup?"
"Yep. And we've got a passenger."
"A passenger? Hera, you don't know anything about this "passenger." It could be a spy for the Imperials."
"Not to worry, luv. The Imperials captured her. I rescued her. She's unconscious and severely injured right now."
A sigh crackled over the speaker. "Fine. Transmit your coordinates and I'll pick you up in the Phantom."
"Alright, transmitting coordinates now. Spectre Two out." Hera transmitted the coordinates to Spectre One, also known as Kanan Jarrus. Scooping the teen up in her arms, she stood and balanced quickly. Not long after, Kanan picked her up in the shuttle and flew her out of Imperial territory without taking to much fire. Hera set the unconscious teen on the floor. Kanan flipped the shuttle onto autopilot, setting the coordinates for the rebel base. He walked back to join Hera who had pulled the Mando's shirt up and away from her stomach.
"That does not look good." he said, stating the obvious as he pulled the girl's helmet off her head. "Why, Hera, she doesn't appear to be more than sixteen standard years old!" he exclaimed. Hera said nothing, only stared grimly at the teen's stomach. It was black and blue and purple, but not like a bruise. Like internal bleeding.
"I know that. We have to get her to the medcenter immediately."
They arrived at their small base that was fortunate enough to have a bacta tank. The med droid stripped the Mandalorian of her armor and clothing, transferring her to the white shorts and sleeveless, midriff exposing white top that were typically worn in the bacta tank. Not long after, she was securely suspended in the tank, held up by a harness and an oxygen mask covered her mouth and nose.
"How long will she have to be in the tank?" Hera asked, placing her palm on the glass near the teen's own limp hand.
"At least two weeks," the medical droid replied in its mechanical voice, busying itself in tidying the girl's armor and clothes.
"Will she make a full recovery?" Hera asked, moving from the glass tank.
"Yes, she should." the 'droid replied.
...
Two weeks had passed. Hera had checked on the girl's progress each day, happy to see the out-of-place colors fading each time. The girl was now out of the tank, though still clad in the white garments. Hera walked into the med-center to find the Mando toweling her hair dry from the bacta.
"Hi." Hera greeted, sitting down next to her. "Name's Hera."
"H - hi." The teen replied, choking on the bacta that had somehow worked its way into her mouth and had coated her throat. "Oh, I-I hate th-at stuff," she stated, wiping the havta she had spit out off her chin. "N-name's Sabine. Sabine Wren."
"Hello, Sabine. Glad you're alright."
"Thanks. Did you save me from the bucket-heads?"
"Yep."
"Thanks. Now I have to think of a way to repay you."
"I have an idea. You could join our Rebel crew."
"It's a deal!" Sabine replied happily, her brown eyes sparkling. Hera and Sabine shook hands.
"One thing, though, Sabine. To be a Rebel, you have to be quick, light on your feet, and stealthy among other things. Think you can handle that?"
"Definitely. Usually I don't get caught." Sabine brushed her hair out of her eyes with a sheepish grin.
"Good. Wanna go meet the rest of the crew?"
Sabine glanced down at herself. "Um, yeah, but let me get dressed first."
...
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