'And all the people say,

"You can't wake up, this is not a dream,

You're part of a machine, you are not a human being,

...Oh, oh, oh, oh,

I think there's a flaw in my code."'

- "Gasoline" Halsey

Duty. Obedience. Loyalty. Discipline.

There was nothing else but these. They dictated every action, reaction, every decision and course taken in the life of a soldier. They were absolute, demanded no matter the circumstances of a soldier's life. They were life.

ZL-U58 had never known anything different than the life of a Stormtrooper of the First Order and if there had ever been memories of another place, another life, they had long ago been wiped away from her mind, her brain reprogrammed to remember only what the Order wished her to remember. If she had ever had a name, other than her ID, she had no memory of it. None of the Stormtroopers did. They were expendable assets, nuts and bolts in the gears that powered the machine that was the First Order. Even more expendable yet, since she was the rare alien that was part of that machine.

The Zeltron* were known for their empathetic natures and the ability to read and even influence the desires of others. They could calm a room simply by being in it, or stir it up if they were so inclined, or commanded. They could know what someone was feeling after only a few minutes in their presence. This nature made them extremely likeable by both sexes. They earned trust easily. They often made the perfect infiltration agent or security plant.

The people of her birth were also notorious hedonists. Partiers, lovers of any sort of pleasure they could possibly indulge in and because of their adventurous nature, often enslaved for purposes that didn't take a great imagination to realize.

She was, as all Zeltrons, red-skinned. Hers was a lighter shade, a marked hue of ruddy pink too vibrant to ever mistake her as human and a sharp contrast to the glaring cyan of her hair. Almost always braided snugly and tucked under her helmet and when loose, a frizzy blue cloud that exploded around her face and over her shoulders. She should have cut it long ago, had been reprimanded over it in the past when it was not regulation, but short it was even frizzier and haloed her head like Bantha milk fluff. ** Her figure was, at least, beyond reproach: lean and strong, muscled enough to easily bear the bulk of armor and weaponry in the worst of conditions. She was a modest height, not petite, but not nearly as statuesque as Phasma. Her features were all sharp, angular rather than soft, nose, cheekbones and chin. Her eyes were a clear and pale blue under slashing blue brows.

ZL-U58 had never explored any of these parts of her genetic makeup. She had never been ordered to make use of her inherent abilities, had never been a slave, for pleasure or otherwise. But her appearance still made her the brunt of jokes in her division and among her fellow soldiers, despite never having been a part of the lifestyle, career or fate many of her species had.

Being programmed from childhood did not exclude the natural inclination for a male to be crude and there were plenty of crude comments to go around towards the much smaller number of female troopers, though none dared to let a word of it past their lips when Captain Phasma came near. Harassment of the sexual sort was something the Captain did not lightly indulge and ZL-U58 had seen many a soldier with the towering woman's boot on their windpipe. When she was not present, it was free game and while a few of the women might take offense and report every infraction, a good deal returned the crudeness or let it lead towards another conclusion. A handful let themselves be passed around amongst the division like party favors since the number of women were so small and soldiers were not allowed slaves, but most, like ZL-U58, were conformed enough that insults and innuendos alike didn't have much outward effect. If they chose to indulge, it was straightforward, simple, a scratching of a need rather than any sort of heated exchange. There were never any consequences: Stormtroopers were sterilized, another bit of individual choice ripped away.

It had never bothered her, this loss of self, the lack of memories past the first years as a young girl when the Order had began her conditioning and training. It was comforting in a way that she supposed the Resistance and the Republic would never understand. To know, absolutely, your role in the galaxy and have no other obligation, but to fufill it. To serve, to obey, to act on an order and carry out with the expectation that there would be punishment if she failed. That was a comfort as well, to always know what to expect...

Still, even all this black and white, a literal observation as well as a figurative one, there were shades of grey. There were time she knew that what was demanded of her was wrong, perhaps even despicable. She still obeyed, still acted on those orders, but there were times it sat up with her at night when her mind should have shut itself down. It wasn't troubling enough to stop her from doing her duty and only in the last few months had truly began to give her some annoyance.

Like the slaughter on Jakku. These people were a nuisance, a blight, housing and aiding those who would fight against the First Order, supporting the corruption, the greed and chaos that the Resistance was trying their best to sew in the galaxy. The Republic, that spoiled brain child that had risen from the dangerous birth of ideas the rebels inspired, had to be taken down if peace and order were to be maintained. Still...firing into a pack of unarmed villagers had seemed...overdone, if not outright excessive. Part of her hardwired brain wondered if it wouldn't have been better to have simply killed only some of them and left the rest to instill the fear of the Order.

In the end, she had fired into the crowd of villagers just as the rest of her fellow soldiers had, with no regrets other than a vague dissatisfaction that it could have been better done. Thoughts it was best to keep to herself, especially as the Captain strode past, snapping out orders in a cold, mechanical voice, the destruction turning her gleaming armor into a blazing source of light. ZL-U58 nodded, turned and headed for the transports, but ground to a halt as a figure in black stalked past, the desert wind catching at his cloak and robes, tugging at the ragged edges. His head turned slightly and ice coated her innards as she saw her own helmeted reflection in the eye visor of his mask. But her spine snapped rigid, heels tight together and she gave a sharp nod of her head in his direction. "Sir," she offered respectfully. There was no response, of course, and she breathed easier as he prowled past. He hadn't paid her any more mind than he would anyone else, for which she could be grateful. No one wanted to be on the receiving end of Kylo Ren's attention, whether it be bad or...bad. Never had she seen him talk to anyone with any sort of approval, kindness. Just frigid authority or deadly rage. His displays of fury were notorious and enough to keep the divisions beneath him in perfect order.

"ZL-U58, when you're done gawking at Lord Ren, get your self on the transport. Immediately." The crisp voice of the Captain had ZL-U58 saluting quickly, then jogging double-time to the transport. but she was curious, just curious enough, to turn her head and watch as she filed into formation: Two other Stormtroopers were hoisting a bedraggled prisoner in Resistance colors onto Ren's transport. Did that mean that whatever the First Order's purpose on this dried up backwater planet had been accomplished?

As the transpo lift doors rose, ZL-U58 shifted, disengaged her weapon and locked it into place on the rack beside her head. As she did so, it was impossible not to notice the empty spots where fellow soldiers had stood prior to this mission. She knew their IDs, eyes behind her helmet moving over their weapon racks and their faces fled through her mind. Some she had known well, had liked. Her gaze stopped on one such place, just across from her and she got a clutch in her chest at the thought of that man dying. Her eyes moved to the soldier who stood behind where the fallen man once had. FN-2187 was visibly distressed, if the rise and fall of his shoulders were any indication, the way his helmeted head jerked as the transpo went airborne with a shudder. She stared at the streaks of blood that ran down his helmet. She remembered that the dead soldier, FN-2003, or as some had called him 'Slip' had been a friend of his, too. A closer companion to him than to her. A weaker soldier who had often needed more...encouragement...to perform his duties. FN-2187 and herself had take pains to keep him from falling under Phasma's ire as much as they could.

Keeping her voice low, her head turning back to front and center, she spoke softly. "I'm sorry. He was a good sort. You saw him fall?" Other such conversations were happening, but softly. Quietly. It wasn't well-received by the Captain, nor the General, sentiment amongst the ranks. She had no idea how Ren observed it.

"Yeah." The reply was issued in a breathless voice and she heard him draw a damp breath, lick his lips, the sounds magnified in the connection between their helmets. "Yeah, I saw him go down. That rebel pilot...before they shot up his ship." He drew another harsh breath. "Wonder what they're gonna do with him..."

Behind her helmet, ZL-U58 raised a brow. "Interrogate him," she said flatly. "What else would they do? I had thought the old man might be our target..." But she had seen herself that Ren had cut him down. "Why do you care what the Order will do to him?" She was genuinely curious...as such curiosity for the fate of prisoners was rare, though she had wondered somewhat herself...

"I don't. I just hope they...take him out. For FN-2003. It wasn't quick...the way Slip went out." The other Stormtrooper's breath went shallow again and as she turned her head, she saw he was shaking. "Still...the villagers...I saw kids..."

Anything ZL-U58 might have said, any response she might have unwisely made, was interrupted by the violent shudder of the transpo as the tracking beams of the Finalizer locked on and Captain Phasma's voice rang through their helmets. "All troops submit their weapons for inspection immediately, then report for duty in my division. Phasma out."

Turning, ZL-U58 unlocked her weapon from the rack, cursed as her armored glove, misshaped from a blast caught on the guard. Finally freeing her glove, she looked up for FN-2187, but he was nowhere to be seen. She frowned softly. She had never seen a fellow soldier so disturbed over a battle...then again, it had been his first, if she was remembering correctly. She had long since grown used to bloodshed and losses. Still...elderly and children.

Hearing the distinctive slap of the captain's boots moving across the bay floor, ZL-U58 turned with her weapon and jogged off towards inspection.

* Zeltron are a near human, alien race that exist in both the new Canon, but more so in Legends. If you're interested, you can learn more in the Wookiepedia.

** Bantha milk is the infamous blue milk.

My intentions for this story are to explore the events of Episode VII from the viewpoint of a Stormtrooper that is well-acquainted with battle and begins to question the methods and motivation of the First Order...but chooses to stay loyal.

For now there are no relationship tags, though I wouldn't be adverse to it at some point. I would rather let the story tell itself for now.

I will update as often as I can between work and getting my Masters.