Disclaimer: I don't own anything of Star Wars, but who is going to see Rogue One?

Thank you to: kylocatastrophe for reviewing (A03)! Thank you to those who have come back for a second time and leave kudos!

Warnings for this chapter: Alcohol abuse, contemplating suicide, mentions of past drug abuse and successful suicide.

12/3/2016: Added warnings to Chapter 1, and changed Armitage's eyes to light brown.

~.~.~

Chapter 2

His Devil, Offering

~.~.~

Armitage Halloran is a workaholic because it's the only thing keeping him from his personal thoughts. He always arrives two hours before everyone else to sort through mail, start the coffee maker, and occasionally order donuts to be delivered half an hour before the staff members arrive.

Halloran is the President of First Order Design; one of the many companies working with graphic design, online marketing, interactive media, and all that internet jazz a normal person didn't want to think on. Seventy percent of their clients are small business owners dotted around the city whose revenues have increased thanks to Armitage and his specialized team, and the customers were willing to pay the cost for the services.

In the earlier years, Armitage managed to land a handful of higher end clients, and it was they who kept the lights on, and the rent paid. Even with the heavy decline of creativity, his Graphic Design Department picked up the pace, and kept the clients happy. Thankfully, they were ahead of schedule which was promising with the upcoming holidays. Armitage wasn't a fool to mistreat loyal employees who stayed after hours to get projects completed, and he made sure they were rewarded for their work. He would have to come up with a way this year as his Co-President normally organized such events.

But, it was the second year without her.

Nestled in the back providing ample visibility in the open studio space and using glass as walls, the lights turn on by motion, and he turns his computer on. It would be a few minutes, and he, a creature of habit, stood by the window, and watched the light snowfall. It's still dark, and it wouldn't be too long before sunlight began coloring the sky. Reaching into his coat pocket, the ginger pulls out an orange pill bottle with the ink label long worn off.

Two years ago, his best friend Cassandra 'Captain' Phasma committed suicide by overdosing on powerful pills mixed with potent alcohol. He had surprised her with a birthday gift when he found her, but by the time the medics arrived it was too late. She died in his arms with a suicide letter addressed to him in her hands; he kept the letter in his red journal hidden beneath the broken floorboards.

As he relied on alcohol to help him through the day, Phasma used various pills to find her happiness. On better days, she didn't touch the stuff, and on her worse she dabbled to see how long her high would last when she didn't eat and drank. When she came down from her high, she would lie on the couch motionless watching soap operas. She wanted to happy, and even tried quitting the drugs.

Phasma didn't want to talk to a therapist; she had a difficult time trusting people. Life had not been kind to either of them, and he thought they could work through their inner demons together.

Armitage doesn't hate her. He doesn't condemn her for her final act. Sometimes, when he's angry and he thinks of her, he wants to know why she left him alone in the city, but she won't answer because she's in the ground at the cemetery. Instead of celebrating her life, he's drinking away those precious memories so he could forget the words she's written down, and he could finally take that step off the ledge. Phasma's cat Millicent knows when he's thinking of her former owner cause she'll curl up next to him, and they'll mourn together.

Armitage glances at the pills before placing the bottle back in his coat.

~.~.~

By the time some of the staff members leave for lunch, it's daylight outside and the city is buzzing with holiday cheer. It's easy to get lost in these moments, and forget the sadness that lingers in all human hearts; hearts that are so easy corrupted that twist the soul into a monster that lurks not in shadows or nightmares, but the neighbor next door. Or, perhaps worse, the voice inside your heart threatening to overcome the very psyche that waves hello to innocent bystanders.

However, simple pleasures can be found in the box of delicious donuts sitting on the table in the break room. No one knows who bought them, but they are eternally grateful, and happily munch on the treats. It's a small reward for their hard work. It's been questioned whether Luke Skywalker, Vice Assistant of Interactive Media is the one responsible for the treats, but it's well known he would eat two dozen donuts they got into the building.

Luke is leaning against the counter, and inappropriately moaning at the cream filled treat as Thane Thanisson enters the break room. Thanisson, former soldier who preferred being called by his surname, throws a glare at the other man. Luke ignores Thanisson, and turns his attention to the coffee maker as the god-given machine finishes brewing another batch. Neither like each other for various reasons with most of them on the lines of ageism (thirty is not old declares Luke), and Phasma.

Oftentimes, Dopheld 'Lieutenant' Mitaka, former Navy soldier himself, and Finn Blythe, a young man from the slums, had to interfere. It wasn't as though Armitage played the part of a fool of the drama in his own company as Mitaka dutifully informed the President of the gossips and happenings. Phasma's death left a void in the chain of command, and it was rumored that Thanisson sought her position as Co-President. Luke and Mitaka, being the eldest staff members from its founding as a four-member team, aided where they could when their President wouldn't get out of bed after the tragic event.

When Luke heard the rumor, he took it seriously, and confronted Thanisson. To this day, only Armitage, Mitaka, Luke and Thanisson know the contents of that discussion as it lead to a fist fight resulting in three broken tables, and damaged equipment. Thanisson and Luke weren't allowed to be alone in the same room.

Now, back to the scene at hand, the staff members stop their busy work, and turn their heads to peep at the Vice Assistants. Some even lean over and whisper to their colleagues. Ah, now here is where the heart of humanity lies, and it lies in the scent of blood. What human ignores the challenge of dominance as we are all genetically coded to obey the chain of command or fear isolation or death! To the displeasure of the audience, Thanisson simply takes a donut, and turns to return to his Marketing department when eye spy with his pretty eyes is a fair maiden just entering the open studio.

She's short in stature, but holds herself with such confidence that any suitor would steal a second glance. The heels she wears are not meant for casually browsing the streets where there's snow and ice with the potential to slip and fall, and hopefully not to her death. What shame would it be for such a young maiden to arrive to her grave in a white dress and makeup to flush those lovely cheeks. Shakespeare and Wordsworth would weep and write poetry conducting her untimely death, and how the audience would weep at the recitations!

Thanisson approaches the woman, a charming smile that would surely cause a soft blush to adore her cheeks.

"Good afternoon, and welcome to First Order Design. I'm Thane Thanisson, Vice Assistant of Marketing. How may I help you?" Oh, to be young and charming even with a fattening treat in hand.

"Afternoon," she greets and smiles in return. Thanisson felt his heart skip a beat at the small radiance of the smile. "Is Armitage Halloran available to speak to me for a few minutes?" A sister? A lover? A girlfriend? He's never heard of his boss even having a date so the chances of them being romantically or sexually involved are slim. But, he knew little of Armitage's life.

"Anybody would make time for you," he recites, and motions for her to follow him. It only takes a spare pair of eyes before the gossip and texting begins, and it takes only a minute before the news reaches all corners of the offices. Somebody whispers to Finn, and he looks over. The visitor glances over, spots Finn, and winks at him. That should keep the gossip alive for a few more days on the meaning behind the harmless gesture.

When the two arrive in front of Armitage's office, Thanisson politely knocks on the door as the President is currently absorbed in his interactive whiteboard as he makes modifications to a design. The ginger turns at the sounds, and motions with his right hand for them to enter.

Thanisson, ever being the polite gentlemen, opens the door, and the maiden steps forth first.

"A visitor for you, sir," the former soldier announces. Armitage nods, and Thanisson shuts the door though it'll give the two no privacy as the staff look on with curiosity. Halloran crosses the room, and extends his right hand.

"Welcome to First Order Design. I'm President Armitage Halloran," he starts.

"It's nice to finally meet you Halloran. I'm Reyna Hux," she answers, extending her own hand in a brief handshake. He nearly pauses at the sound of her surname, and quickly regains his composure. Without a word, they take a seat in their respective chairs before continuing on.

"Please, call me Armitage."

"Likewise, call me Rey. Reyna is far too formal for my tastes."

"How can I help you this afternoon Rey?"

"I came on behalf of the Hux Charity organization. One of my colleagues mentioned you, and I'm here to personally offer an invitation to the Christmas party being hosted in a few weeks."

Hux Charity, founded almost fifty years ago, sought to end poverty and suffering in the city, and provided ample funding for education, rehabilitation, supplies and other necessities for the poor, homeless, and addicts. Head Chairman Brendol Hux is a prominent figurehead as he kept his nose clean, and no scandals of the organization nor the man himself have been dirtied despite any opponent's attempts. They operated year long, but their most promising time is always during the holidays when people felt more generous with their coin purses, and to help ease their guilty minds of whatever sin they should commit.

The Christmas party is said to be the grandeur of any small business, and would definitely boost the First Order Design's name. To be among the elite would be eventful, and the exchange in contacts would result in more jobs and contracts. Ah, but more on that later.

"Your company has donated much over the years, and we thank you for your contributions," she continues.

"One of my staff members is a product of your father's charity so I must return the favor in any way I can." Rey smiles, and it's a secret one.

"I can't stay long, but I was wondering if you would be willing to have lunch with me sometime next week. Purely for business, of course. Tuesday at noon?" Armitage pulls up the calendar on his phone to ensure he's available, and agrees with the time and date. They exchange contact information, and the President escorts the lovely Rey out.

~.~.~

It's sometime after ten, but before midnight when Kylo materializes in Armitage's apartment. The place is dark and quiet. He ignores the tidy living room, and makes his way into the much too small kitchen. Armitage is sitting at the two-person folding table by the window; there's a bottle of bourbon, and it's contents are half way gone. He's too busy staring at the photograph, and doesn't look up when Kylo takes the empty seat.

The curtains are tied back revealing a clear winter sky with a glorious full moon spilling into the room, and, more importantly, giving the human an illuminating glow. How terrible of the writer to not describe the handsome appearance of Armitage Halloran. A tall gentleman with almost straight auburn hair, but it had the tendency to curl ever so slightly at the ends. Its length brushed the tip of his collared shirt. His eyes are a light brown with specks of green and gray around the pupil.

Right now, under the moonlight's grace, his skin is more pale with cute freckles dotting his body in various constellations. His lips are pale, and beckon some to kiss them roughly if not for the purpose of turning them red. How tempting it would be to woo the man to bed, and peer with fascination to see how far a blush could extend. We shall revisit that theory later.

"Either you're a persisting illusion or truly a Devil sent to take me away," the ginger speaks, and grabs the bottle to nurse from it.

"You would've been dead if I were an illusion," Kylo explains, holding his hand out for the bottle. Armitage hands it over, picking his head up, and making eye contact with the Devil.

"I'll greet death in the end. Doesn't matter if it comes sooner." The Black Book appears with a thud on the sad excuse for a table. Once more, it opens magically, and turns to the familiar page with the iron pen resting in the center as a bookmark.

"I can grant that wish, but I know you can complete the task yourself." Kylo takes a sip of the bourbon, and his face scrunches at the bland taste, and powerful kick of the alcohol. "Do you want to know your destiny?"

Armitage ponders the question: was this the entire point of human life? Of its existence? To wander the plains and oceans in quest for something that make all this worth living. Is it found in the forms of charity, cruelness or, perhaps the worst of all, there was no point. Humans simply conditioned themselves to seek one or go mad with inanity. Many find aspiration in religion, but he is not a holy man. The last time he set foot in a church was his mother's funeral nine years ago. Even before then, he questioned and cursed all deities for his and his mother's life. They have forsaken them.

"No, I don't want to know." It wouldn't matter anyhow. Halloran sweeps his hair out of his face, eyes breaking contact, and he begins reading the contract laid out before him. Kylo is silent, a small grin painting his pink lips. He's surprised the human has taken to the supernatural, magic and all its oddities so quickly, or maybe it's the bourbon speeding the process. After a few minutes, Armitage leans back in his seat, and looks at the other man. "I ask whatever I want, and you'll help me achieve it?"

"And at the end, I'll take your soul to Hell."

"And if it involves murder? War? Or other Devils?" Ren's lips spread wide into a full grin, and his canine teeth glisten from the moonlight.

"The more blood the better. I wouldn't expect anything less from you."

"Is there no code between your kind?"

"None that prohibit the execution of one." Kylo removes himself, and steps to Armitage's left side. There, he kneels; Halloran having no choice, but to put the photograph on the table, and turn towards the Devil. Kylo takes Armitage's left hand, and holds it ever so gently like a man proposing to his lover. "I am sworn to protect you. Your soul will belong to me, and I will slay be it Devil or man at your command." The Devil's dark eyes swift to molten amber, and his pupils to slits.

Armitage thinks back to the pills in his coat pocket, and the note in his red journal. He thinks to the blank canvasses in his living room, and the sketchbooks that haven't been touched in months. Glancing at the photograph of two children hugging a woman, he makes up his mind.

"My soul is that valuable to you." He had nothing more to live for, and at least this gave him purpose for a little longer. Picking up the iron pen with his right hand, he elegantly writes his name and purpose. The ink is red, and he briefly wonders if this is what the stories meant by signing your name in blood. When he's done, he sets the pen back down.

There's an odd wet sensation going up his forearm, and it's Kylo leaving a trail of soft kisses. Suddenly, Kylo yanks Armitage, and both are standing up with the Devil's sharp teeth nipping at the upper forearm. Their bodies are pressed against each other, and Armitage tries to pull away, but Kylo's grip on his left wrist is bruising. There's pain shooting throughout his arm as a tattoo forms itself on the area where Kylo nipped at; a black mist forms, and sinks itself into the pale skin. Armitage beholds the inverted sunburst surrounded by a hexagon outline. Is this magic? Devil magic? Or is the sinking feeling in his stomach the realization that everything is real, and that all he had left is now gifted to this Devil on a silver platter?

Kylo lowers his head, and their lips almost touch, and forces the human to make eye contact. Unbeknownst to Armitage, the kitchen becomes coated in a thick layer of darkness as the Devil's body shifts and twists into a larger, darker form. He speaks, and his voice is deeper, and held so many dark promises that it sent shivers down the ginger's spine.

"No matter where you go Armitage Halloran, I will be there. You cannot run. You cannot hide. You cannot escape me. You are mine."

~.~.~

The Red Light District is more charming at night. If virtue seizes the day then sin overtakes the night, and its consequences stumble into morning guilt and shame for some. For many others though, the night is all they know, and it's the code they live by. They are no different than the day walkers; they too laugh, cry, and hold resentment to the powers that be. Perhaps it is they who hold more virtue despite their occupations, and conditions; they are more true to themselves than those who take pleasure in flesh then scorn the very same people once the sun is up.

But, it is here where pure hearts go to die for no one of good virtue can survive a night where neon lights beckon the young and naive into the comfort of a whore's arms, and the succulent taste of cheap beer. To survive, there are rules, unwritten, but etched by the blade, and its ink the blood of those who violate these rules. If there are new people, perhaps lost or curious by the calling of corruption that those with religion in their purpose warn about in every sermon, it's only polite to warn the newcomers. If they continue their foolishness without respect then, well, punishment will commence.

The first, and foremost being to respect The Boss.

It is because of The Boss that there is peace within the Red Light District. Drug dealers, sex trafficking, weapon dealers, and, yes, even gang bosses are forced into a truce to shed less (open) blood. It wouldn't do for the police to get involved in the affairs of the night. The Boss is the law, judge and jury, but not your executioner. Oh no; he had other men to do the job for him in case he's called away to be a proper citizen he portrays himself to be in the papers and for his father's company. You had to really fuck up for him to warrant such a privilege.

In one of the backrooms to a seedy establishment that could provide the setting to any crime film or television show, a man of low birth kneels on the floor before The Boss. The commoner's fingers are broken, teeth missing, and pretty bruises blossom on his body. This man had mistakenly snatched drug money, and that was the second rule – you do not steal from The Boss. Unfortunately, the misfit spent the money on entertainment, and could not hand over a single credit. The man attempted freedom, but was caught, and dragged to the backroom of the seedy establishment where patrons happily drank away, and betted on when and how the man would die.

"Please… please Han-" Smack! His head twists to the side, and there's blood running down his nose.

"It's Boss," one of the henchmen kindly informs. "And it's no use beggin'. Suggest to you pray to your god." The thief stares with one eye at The Boss on the other end of the room.

Boss Hannibal 'Han' Hux leans against the far wall, a lit cigarette in his mouth. He's bored, and his hands itch to kill the guy himself, but he couldn't risk dirtying his suit again, and honestly didn't want to hear another lecture from Brendol. Han wasn't stupid about his role in this life, and it was the Red Light that kept him more alive than the blood in his veins.

Hazel eyes catch the shifting shadows, and he ignores it as his Devil finally makes his appearance next to him.

"'Bout time. Thought ya were gonna miss the fun Boba," Han jokes. The Devil fully emerges, and stands next to his human. Both are roughly the same towering height, and it's easy to be intimidated by them. "How was Hell?"

"Armitage Halloran made a contract with Kylo Ren," Boba notifies, sparing a glance at Han. The Boss removes the cigarette with his left hand, and takes out his cell phone with his right. He sighs like it's been a long night, and he doesn't want to put up with anymore bullshit.

"Any details?"

"None right now."

"Better call Leia." He doesn't want to, but he mindlessly dials his older sister's number. It rings twice before she picks up, but he speaks first. "Little brother made a contract, and with the Devil's Apprentice."

"Which Apprentice?"

"The angry one."

"That may prove a problem, but at least it's not the prideful one. No doubt you can take care of it."

"I'll keep you updated sweetheart." She hangs up. Han puts his phone away, and waves his left hand at his men. "I'm going to bed. Just make sure you clean up." Han turns to exit with Boba in step behind him. The man's pleads are drowned out by the television and noise of the seedy establishment.

~.~.~

The job titles sound weird, but I'm referencing my job so hopefully it makes some sense. What do you think? Getting any better?