Rick was often called only one name, and while he didn't appreciate it, he was alright with going by it: Darth Helmet. Mainly because he was so similar to Rick Moranis in voice and appearance they could almost be called twins, except Rick Kaet was known to have wavy, dark brown hair that reaches to the bottom of his ears. Rick sits back in a chair, drinking a lemonade, staring out the window at the shining sun, so incredibly bright it was, and simply wondered, "what will I do today?", when the explosion rang out from a fair distance away. He sipped his cup before casually putting it down and peering out the window. Just another air strike. Rick shrugs and goes back to his table, wearing a white tee and brown khakis. Today's his day off from hologram tech repair, and he's enjoying it very quite nicely. The Empire's been relatively quiet since those rebels failed with that whole Death Star plot, and now, when going to work, he doesn't have to imagine he might die, rather, "Well, Tony's got a point, tech supports aren't near the tier of tech repair…"

However, there is still the issue of smoking out hidden rebels. The Empire is harsh as ever on scouting them out, and Rick himself has been visited three times within 4 days by three separate trooper squads that searched everything, found nothing, and another came the next day anyway. He supposes they'll be here today, too, at 2000 Galactic time again, so he has a good 800 galactic hours (8 hours) until they arrive. He enjoys the rest of that lemonade, looks for a better speeder model at his holodesk, and examines a leak in a pipe, fixing it up nice and tight from its loose state. Just a normal man living a normal life, it seems.

/time skip\

Rick feels so at home at his desk. It's a small desk in a small cubicle, with a holocomputer, a plant in the corner of it, a few drawers, and a holocommunicator, and his office chair. He has to wear a black uniform with a scanner on his eye, with an earpiece attached to that, and his glasses having to be over THAT. But he's satisfied. Rick is liked by his coworkers: he's not jovial, but he isn't brooding; he's a regular-looking man (aside from his resemblance), with a regular life. No wife or kids, but he's planning to get a pet of some sort, or maybe a droid. He looks up as he gets an incoming call, like all his other employees do at the same time. He gets to see the lovely face of the emperor after he opens the call.

"Greetings. I have a message for all those working in Stormtrooer training. You will abandon your rifles now, for we have developed more accurate technology. Rick Kaet, report to my room immediately. All those involved with the site Land of the Empines, please report to the medical facility. That is all."

Rick is alarmed, quite thoroughly. Being called to the Emperor is like being drawn before Genghis Khan. A scary, scary thing, that could range from life to employment to death.

He reports to the Emperor's room after a very long journey from his cubicle, going all the way across the Death Star basically, until he reaches the Emperor's room. He's searched by the Royal guards before bowing before the emperor, who sits in his chair, hands resting at the sides, smiling his ugly expression of sadistic joy. The emperor was enjoying this man's fear.

"Rick Kaet. You are familiar with Darth Vader, correct?" He asks in a drawn-out manner.

"Yes, Your Excellence."

"He tells me that he sensed the force in you...I can feel that power too...that is the reason I've called you here."

Rick has a hard time hearing his employer. The force? In him?

"I understand, Your Highness."

"I want you to stop your work immediately. I will give you your same pay, but you, from now on, report to Darth Vader's division every day. You will learn more there. I bid you farewell, and you may continue the rest of today. Leave now, Mr. Kaet."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Rate leaves, and holds his head in a hand, removing a glove and looking at his hand...he can't feel the force, or anything like that...he just feels a hand geared for gear repair. His head is still reeling from all the implications...was he a Jedi? Why had the emperor not told him more? Why discharge him from work? What exactly was going to happen to him? He sighs as he sits at his cubicle. He looks at the plant in the corner, before holding his hand out and trying to think about moving it. Ex post facto, he had no idea the pot would explode.

-I may continue if requested. This is a much less sophisticated universe than I'm used to, but a good friend suggested it, so, why not. Farewell, colleagues.-