The soft whirr of the repulsortrack stretched into the night, a steady companion. And yet, somehow the sound filled Fives' chest with an aching emptiness, underscoring the vast expanse of lonely countryside which streaked past the railcar door. The light of the moons illuminated the landscape in ghostly blues and silvers, teasing at the familiarity of hyperspace, but haunting in the misshapen shadows it threw across his face. He felt neither here nor there, and his skin crawled with the restless anxiety of unfocused anticipation. It was like standing at the edge of a great precipice, wondering when you would tip over. But the precipice was the future, and the edge was never quite in focus.
Dogma sat on the opposite side of the railcar, staring out the door. A prickly energy radiated from him, a standoffish heaviness that had persisted since they'd hopped aboard the repulsortrain. It grated on Fives' nerves as much as the constant hum of the repulsortrack. The tension seemed to grow with each hour they spent among the crates of tools and farming equipment. He wondered if Dogma was feeling that anxious emptiness as much as he was.
It was when the quiet buzz of the repulsortrack had become an unbearable, deafening silence, that Dogma's voice cracked the tension.
"Is that…is that what happened to Tup?"
Fives took a sharp breath in. He glanced at Dogma, who still stared out the railcar door as if he hadn't said anything at all. But then his mouth moved again.
"With the chips. With killing the Jedi. They said it was a virus, but with what happened to me… Is that…really what happened? To Tup?"
Dogma's eyes flicked to Fives, before returning to the scenery. He pulled his knees in tighter against his chest, as though shielding himself from whatever Fives would say. Even in the dim light, Fives could see him wringing his hands.
"Yes," Fives finally said, when he managed to find his own voice. "In a way."
Dogma turned his head then, to gaze directly at Fives. His eyes held a tired, faraway look. "Tell me."
Fives took a deep breath. Here in the quiet of the railcar, keeping the pain of the memories at bay was already proving difficult. His voice came out thick.
"Tup's chip…malfunctioned. Somehow. It started rotting. I never found out why. It triggered the Order prematurely. But the Order was the entire purpose of the chip in the first place. So yeah. What happened to you is what happened to Tup."
Dogma lowered his eyes, staring at the floorbed between them. Or staring past it.
"It was like…like being pushed into a corner of my own head. Like being trapped there. One minute I was me, and the next… It was cold. And dark. And it was bigger than me and it just pushed me out of the way, and I could see what was happening, but I couldn't stop it, I wanted to stop it, I wanted to, but I couldn't, and––"
Dogma swallowed. His eyes were glistening.
"Do you think that's how Tup felt?"
Fives tried to breathe through the tightness in his chest.
"I killed a Jedi," Dogma continued, before Fives could respond. "I had to. I…wanted to. You were there." He raised his eyes to meet Fives' again, and Fives felt an icy rush of dread shoot down his spine. But Dogma pressed on.
"But I chose that. I chose that. Me. I did."
Fives felt himself tensing under the intensity of Dogma's gaze. Everything felt too much. The whir of the repulsortrack grew louder, the crates and boxes pressing in and towering over him, the dance of shadows through the railcar door. His own pulse pounded in his ears. And though Dogma sat on the opposite side of the car, his presence suddenly pushed into Fives' space once more.
"How can they do that?" Dogma demanded. "How can they just take our autonomy away like that?" He spat out the words. "Jedi, Sith, Kaminoan, it doesn't matter who did it; how could they just take it away?"
Dogma dropped his voice, and his eyes, and just like that, the tension in the air dissipated again.
"It's all we ever had…"
Fives closed his eyes, and found that he was gasping. His stomach felt twisted, knotted, and his hands were shaking. He tried to breathe. In for eight counts. Hold for five. Out for eight counts. In for eight counts. Hold for five. Out for eight counts. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he felt his body begin to relax. When the waves of nausea ceased washing over him, he opened his eyes once more.
Dogma had resumed staring out the railcar door, knees still drawn in tight against his chest, arms wrapped around them. The shine of a fallen tear streaked down his face. He hadn't bothered to wipe it away.
"Tup used to tell me," he said quietly, "about the nightmares he had." He paused, then sighed. "I used to tell him I didn't know what he was talking about. But I did." He paused again. His eyes flicked back to Fives. "Did you have the nightmares?"
Fives could only nod.
Dogma hmphed, as if that settled something he'd already suspected. He went back to staring out the railcar door.
"I don't have them anymore."
Fives finally found his voice. "Me neither."
The night wore on, and the soft whirr of the repulsortrack stretched into infinity.