For as long as he could remember, FN-2187 had called Starkiller Base his home. He knew not of a world outside the ice-capped mountains and the snow covered plateaus of his home planet. He knew not of warmth, nor of family, nor of what way of life lay beyond the icy reaches of the planet.

He had a family, that much he knew – but what they were like, he was not sure. FN-2187 did not know what it was like to love, nor to be loved in return. The warmth of a hug, a simple comfort to most, when he was at his lowest of lows. To have somebody to genuinely care about him. It was something completely foreign to him – a myth he only read about in novels.

To him, it was normal to not know your parents, or your past – who you really were. It was a way of life.

There was only one – tiny – window in each sleeping quarter, and more often than not, it was a space shared by up to six other troopers. FN-2187 was lucky enough to be stationed right next to the small, rectangular window and would often spend his nights with his knees drawn up to his chest, staring through the frosted glass and up at the bleak, starless sky.

Each night, he dreamed of a world beyond the ice and snow; beyond the mass of numbers whom he walked alongside, the select few he called friends, each trooper programmed to conform. He dreamed of warmth, of the sun on his skin; of a world where there was no destruction, no violence and no blasters.

He would dream of being one, a sole entity - his own creation, his own person. But, most of all, there was the longing for being one of two.

There had to be more to life than this glacial planet, and FN-2187 was willing to do anything to keep that hope, that little spark in his heart alive.

He wasn't built for combat, that much was obvious. Not only did he know it, but the other Stormtroopers – even the Captain – knew it well and more often than not, it made him the target of their frustration. FN-2187 bore the brunt of their harsh critique or malicious tongues.

He was a failure as a Stormtrooper; A solider of war, who has spent his entire life training, leading up to one very precise moment, who struggled to use a firearm.

FN-2187 wasn't made to fight; he wasn't made to kill. In fact, he knew deep down that when he, along with his squadron, were sent on their first mission, there was no way that he would be able to take the life of another, regardless of whether the First Order willed it or not.

He would much rather face Kylo Ren's rage – or even that of Captain Phasma – than kill for anyone. As fatal as that may prove, that was the price he was willing to pay.

"FN-2187," a distorted, almost robotic voice snapped him out of his trance. Almost immediately, the trooper felt his heart rate increase, his palms clammy. What had he done this time?

"Yes, Captain?" he replied, his voice wavering. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to meet the gleaming silver helmet of his superior.

"You are still hesitating," Phasma said, circling him slowly as though she were a cunning hunter, cutting off her prey. "Why?"

There was no denying it. His blaster hung limply at his side; the ache of the weapon's previous recoil still burned his muscles. He had stopped, right in the middle of their training whilst his squadron had continued the gruelling exercise, seemingly immune to the exhaustion that plagued him. FN-2187 was strong, yes. He had stamina – to an extent. The same as any man. But the rigorous drills and exhausting exercises were taking their toll on his body.

FN-2187 didn't have to be able to see his Captain's face to know that her lips had curled upwards into a snarl. Her eyes, he was certain, were narrowed in a perfect combination of extreme disgruntlement and antipathy.

His squadron had moved away from him, allowing room for Phasma to continue to circle her prey, to completely cut him off. A long silence fell between them as FN-2187 bowed his head and waited, his breath held, to hear of his punishment.

The steady chinking of Captain Phasma's armour slowed and her pacing stopped, coming to a complete halt in front of the lone trooper.

"Funny, isn't it? It matters little how much effort you put into training a dog when there is always the chance that he will turn on you. Only, it seems as though this particular dog is of no threat to his master."

FN-2187 winced at the pernicious nickname, but did not utter a word in response. Did his Captain think of him as a lowly beast?

"A Stormtrooper who cannot follow orders," Phasma mused, her tongue sharp. "I will not allow your behaviour to become detrimental to your squadron – or to myself."

Phasma paused, tucking her arms behind her back; the ebony cape that was fastened around one shoulder was reflected on her gleaming armour as though it was a shifting tendril, wrapping its way around her.

"Tell me FN-2187," she began, her voice low, almost dangerous. "Do you know why you are here? Do you know why you have come to be a Stormtrooper?"

At this, the lone trooper lifted his head and met his Captain's gaze levelly. Even though he, too, wore a helmet, FN-2187 narrowed his eyes in determination, his fists found themselves balling together tightly at the topic. It was common knowledge how a Stormtrooper came to be on Starkiller Base. What satisfaction would Phasma gain by asking him a question that she knew he could answer?

"Yes, Captain," he said slowly, trying to convince himself he was calm. "I do."

Phasma grinned wickedly from under her helmet and took a step towards the other. "Tell me," she challenged.

"We were taken," FN-2187 began. "All of us – still new to this universe and we were taken. Taken here."

"Yes," Phasma acknowledged. "You were taken. That much I cannot deny. However, it was willed."

"Willed?" FN-2187 asked, resisting the urge to shake his head. He could sense that his squadron had moved closer, closing rank around their Captain and fellow trooper, desperate to catch more of the conversation. "Willed by whom, Captain? The First Order? Leader Snoke?"

"Your parents," she replied coldly. "You cannot think that there are not people – entire systems – outside of Starkiller Base who do not support the First Order? No," Phasma shook her head, taking another step towards the trooper. She was now so close that FN-2187 could see the distorted reflection of his helmet in her armour. "Each and every one of you – taken because your parents willed it."

FN-2187 felt the colour drain from his face. That was not possible – they had been taken, stolen if you will, from their families as infants. Phasma had to be lying; some kind of cruel tactic to bring him back in line - to elicit a sense of betrayal, all in hope that it will either drive him to succeed in order to fulfil his parents' wish or spark a hatred towards them that will fuel his anger, pushing him to succeed.

His squadron remained completely silent, either in shock or disbelief, he did not know. Perhaps they were fighting against this revelation, trying desperately to cling on to the hope that their parents did not surrender them to a lifetime of torture and pain; of not knowing what it was like to be human or to be tied down to a particular fate with a name.

"Why?" Was all that he could manage; his voice wavered as he spoke but he did not care to correct himself.

Phasma adjusted her onyx cloak, as if contemplating allowing the trooper the satisfaction of clarity. Finally she fixed her helmeted gaze back on him, and a feeling of unease churned in the pit of the troopers stomach. It felt like an eternity had passed under Phasma's icy gaze when finally, the Captain turned on her heel and strode towards the door of the training hall.

"The reasons are varied, albeit few," she said, stopping a few feet away from the hydraulic door. Shooting a look over her shoulder, she watched the trooper carefully for any signs of defeat or emotion. "Some want a sense of aegis – reassurance that the servitude of their child would mean they have the First Order's protection. Others want money or power. Your parents, FN-2187 seemed quite relieved in just the fact that you would not be around."

FN-2187 did not wait for his common sense to kick in – for the little voice in the back of his head to tell him that going against his Captain was a bad idea. Fists clenched so tightly that he was sure that his nails had punctured the flesh of his palms, he took a step forward.

"Liar!"

"FN-2187," Phasma drawled, as though the enraged Stormtroopers' actions could not possibly harm her. After all, he was the weakest link – the downfall of his squadron. "Report to area fourteen for reconditioning immediately.

To say that FN-2187 had braced himself for what was to come would be a lie. He had prepared himself, both mentally and physically, for pain but it was nothing close to what he was experiencing currently. Torture was the only word that could even come close to describing Captain Phasma's reconditioning, however it was not her conducting the punishment.

Instead, the silver clad Captain had merely stood to the side, observing the punishment; the pain inflicted upon the young Stormtrooper. For too long did she stand stationary, unmoving, relishing in the agonised cries of her subordinate.

FN-2187's helmet had been removed, allowing Phasma the satisfaction of seeing his face, covered with blood and sweat, distorted in pain as he was subjected to his reclamation.

She allowed this to carry on for a good deal of an hour before she held up a hand, signalling the reconditioning to come to a halt. "Enough."

FN-2187 was bloodied and bruised, his chest heaving from the pain as he attempted to regain his breath; every inhalation filled his chest with a white-hot burning sensation. He was imbrued, but he was not yet broken.

"Take him to holding cell 763. It is time that he thinks about what it means to truly swear your allegiance to the First Order."

A/N: Hello everyone. Thanks for taking the time to read this. Just a few things I'd like to note down here. First and foremost, nowhere (in the film, any canon prequel novels, online resources, etc) does it state that Stormtroopers were kidnapped, it merely states taken. So I thought I'd play around with that.
Furthermore, the first few chapters are just shaping Finn and Poe up. Hope you don't mind.