Chapter Text
Powering up.
Chance that someone reassembled me: 100%
Chance that I am about to be reprogrammed by the Empire: 74%
Chance that Scarif was destroyed: 99.9746%
Chance that the Death Star plans had gotten to the Rebellion: 28.379%
Chance that Cassian survived: 0.06%
K-2SO knew that his systems were being rebooted. That his consciousness had been reuploaded into his circuits. That he had been reconstructed. He couldn't see just yet, but it didn't matter.
He almost hoped that the Imperial engineers were about to reprogram him for their own purposes. At least then he wouldn't miss Cassian so much.
The Bor Gullet wrapped slimy tentacles around Bodhi's head.
It hurt, but worse was how it tore his memories apart.
His memories of his mother and everyone else he'd known on Jedha (who had he known?!).
His memories of friends. Of laughing. Of fighting. Of kissing. Of defecting, even.
So many memories had been tangled up. Distorted.
Not all of them. He remembered when the Imperial officers had come for anyone who was able bodied and between the ages of eighteen and thirty-two. It seemed specific. It apparently had something to do with how malleable their minds were. But Bodhi hadn't been broken. Not completely.
He'd still defected. He'd had the desire, and Galen Erso gave him the reason. To bring down the Empire. To destroy the Death Star.
He saw Galen entrusting him with the message. And he was about to speak- but the image became gritty. Like static in a hologram. And he couldn't hear what he'd said. The memory had been corrupted. Like a data file.
"You aren't just a mindless machine, Bodhi Rook." Galen had told him.
Had he even said that? Was that real? Was any of this real?
The Bor Gullet sent shockwaves through his brain as it tunneled through his mind. He was losing grip on reality.
"The unfortunate side effect," Saw Gerrera had told him, "Is that one tends to lose one's mind."
Bodhi flew upright. He'd screamed himself awake. But now that he was conscious of that, and of the fact that the Bor Gullet was gone, he had silenced himself.
He sat, shuddering, breathing heavily. He clutched at his aching chest, feeling the prickle in his lungs. He coughed. And looked around himself. Chirrut had been right, he was in a new room now, apparently on Yavin IV.
It was a fairly standard hospital room. Small and neat, with some sunlight pouring in through the curtains.
He glanced to the side Chirrut had been on. He wasn't there now. Just an empty chair. (Was he ever really there?)
Bodhi felt the terror of his Bor Gullet nightmares subside. He tried to grab ahold of all of his memories. Situate them back where they belonged. But he couldn't quite manage it.
The images of himself being torn from his family were disjointed and blurry. He couldn't quite remember them as well as he used to, but he missed them.
He'd talked to the other Imperial pilots when he'd been with the Empire but he hadn't formed close relationships.
The last people he'd been with were a mismatched team of rejects; they had been his newfound family.
But looking around, he wasn't sure where they were. Or if they'd even want to see him. If they were all ever going to be a team again, now that their mission was over.
He felt very, very alone.