Starkiller Science: Chapter 4: Are You All Right?

Summary: You begin to settle into life on board, getting used to the groove of research and Trooper shenanigans. Acquaintances become something akin to friends, though you're already becoming frustrated with General Hux's ability to hide pertinent information from just about everyone—particularly you. But you're distracted by another medical mystery on board as well as the angry yells and crashes coming from behind a lightsaber-destroyed door.

The third alcove wasn't inherently an intimidating place. Nothing was different in comparison to the other alcoves shoved into the metal interior of the cafeteria, and yet, you knew without a doubt that this particular alcove and its non-assuming, metal table had most likely seen some of the most serious conversations in the entire First Order.

Or so you had initially believed.

The first evening that you had dined there had been... an experience. You had arrived early and sat down with a sandwich before anyone else had arrived. Praying that Talia would join you soon, you were immediately let down to find the silver Storm Trooper stand in front of your table with a tray in hand. They peered down at you through the slit in their helmet, head slightly cocked to the side as though you were a strange rodent that had somehow found its way into a proper dining establishment. You managed a small wave of your hand while trying to swallow a bite of your sandwich.

"Dr Minoross invited me to sit here," you explained. The Storm Trooper shrugged their shoulders and sat down across from you. Their tray of food was a mountain in comparison to yours, and they started to sort through the items.

"Not surprising; she rarely asks before extending invitations," a female voice answered you.

You were taken back for a moment. It wasn't as though you hadn't met other female Storm Troopers, but this Trooper in particular was larger than most of the men you had encountered. Watching her carefully, you sat in shock as she removed her helmet to reveal a head of light blonde hair that wisped down to her cheeks. She grinned cockily for just a moment, stopping her food sorting and glancing at you.

"You're not the first to be surprised," she said. "And you won't be the last."

You actually felt slightly embarrassed; usually you were more perceptive.

"Really, Phasma, being dramatic again?" A familiar voice chimed in behind you, and General Hux sat down at a seat to your right with a plate in hand.

She rolled her eyes whilst already biting into a dinner roll. "Must you have the audacity to call me dramatic as your trash heap of a Sith lord is aboard?"

Hux groaned and positioned his chair so that his back was to her, which sent Phasma grinning to herself as she kept eating. You weren't in on the joke but laughed at her boldness, which didn't seem to please Hux all that much.

"I like her," Phasma mentioned. "She actually appreciates my humour."

"If that's what you call humour."

You enjoyed watching them continue to bicker for a few minutes until Talia and another doctor joined you, both already deep in their own conversation. You recognised the other doctor as the lead physician for the Storm Troopers, Dr Amena Sayeed, who immediately sat beside Captain Phasma to trade various items of food with her.

Watching the dynamic between the four of them was something that you hadn't seen since... well, high school. Watching the inner workings of a clique as they operated in their own strange social intricacies was like the ultimate anthropological study.

Okay. Not ultimate. But at least you found it interesting.

You had expected them to be so somber in their discussion—that they would be speaking of war, their soldiers, logistics. Instead, you heard two dick jokes, the retelling of Talia's drunken adventures on her home planet, and six thinly-veiled references to Hux's less-than-stellar love life. It turned out that they were... people. Just actual, possibly close to normal, people. And to be honest, it was a relief to hear some casual conversation that didn't have to do with brains. Bless Talia, but if you had to hear another word about neurofibrillary tangles today, you were going to lose it.

You found yourself comfortable with them. Comfortable with the joking, the bickering between Hux and nearly everyone else, the strange rumours about other Storm Troopers. It all seemed natural. And as the days went on and you decided to join them more, you found yourself being included. Phasma in particular found you interesting. She asked about your background, about your opinions of her troops (opinions that you really hadn't formed yet), and what you thought of living on the satellite. You divulged as much as possible, eager to please just about anyone so long as it meant building relationships for this year-long stay.

Of course, you learned within a few days that Phasma and Hux couldn't always be around for these dinners. Phasma in particular had to lead her troops into various skirmishes across the solar system, which would send her disappearing for days at a time. Meanwhile, Hux was often busy working with Kylo Ren and had a tendency to miss meals, which seemed to annoy Talia more than it should have. It was on these days that their table stood empty, no one wanting to meet unless everyone was together. And on those particular days, you scribbled a list of items to fetch from the pantry upon a dry erase board in your kitchen and decided to finally eat dinner in your own apartment.

A few Storm Troopers had helped you construct your disassembled furniture and unpack, and the apartment finally looked like an actual home after a week. Granted, there were still boxes in the living room, but they were mostly full of books anyway. You eventually pulled all of the books out and stacked them on the floor, leaning against the living room wall by your easy chair. Pickles wasn't the most pleased at losing his many box forts, but you just wanted it to look like home. And home meant books. Books everywhere.

Holy hell, when had you amassed this many books, though?

Oh well.

Your days went by much the same. Meetings. Brains. Research. Collecting summaries of data from Byrt and Mickella. Shadowing Dr Amena as she treated Storm Troopers who had returned to the base after missions. Watching the Storm Troopers at work. Attempting to initiate dialogue with the Storm Troopers (a difficult task, as most of them were unaccustomed to real honest to God conversation). You felt a groove starting to be worn and embraced it.

Soon, it was two weeks down. Fifty more to go.

With each passing day, you seemed to gather more research, which was growing in a pile beside your living room couch, though you still had no guesses when it came to the Storm Troopers' mystery dementia. Was there something environmental rattling the brains of all these Troopers? Maybe, but you sure as hell didn't know what it was. Not yet, at least.

And Talia was suddenly not much help. After giving you all the data she possessed and forcing you through a crash course into neuroscience, you were basically on your own. Plus, she was suddenly occupied with another medical mystery on board that Dr Amena had consulted her on. Apparently, there was a Trooper going out of his damned mind down in the medical ward—bad enough to warrant metal restraints to his hospital bed after having literally ripped through a set of canvas safety restraints. Talia had confided that she and Dr Amena were at a loss and had asked you to visit him.

"Not like I think you're going to solve this all the sudden," she added. "But you should check by him after dinner—scope it out. I've never seen anything like it."

"What's wrong with him?"

Talia pulled out a sheet from a messy pile of papers on her office desk. It had a ring of formaldehyde on the corner where a brain specimen had been used as a paper weight.

Extreme paranoia.

Delusions.

Schizo-affective disorder?

Short-term memory loss.

Migraines.

"Talia, I honestly know nothing about psychiatric disorders." It wasn't as though you weren't mildly intrigued by the Trooper. Who knew, maybe his memory loss was connected to the bigger picture of your study. But you just didn't see how you would be of any help. But that didn't phase Talia, nor Dr Amena who ended up proposing the same idea of you paying a visit. So you resigned yourself to having an early dinner with General Hux before setting off to the medical ward.

"You do know," Hux explained between bites of his dinner, "that they asked you to see him because they honestly believe that you'll find the answer."

You snorted your disbelief. The past twenty minutes had been spent discussing the Trooper's case as the two of you ate, and you had quickly come to the realisation that everyone was in on some conspiracy to have you figure this out. Yeah, you were a doctor specialising in the cause of disease, but let's be real, this was pretty out there.

"They're as crazy as that Trooper, then."

Hux rolled his eyes. "You have an uncanny knack at understanding people; surely you have realised this."

You nodded; you had been told countless times before. It was just an obscure talent, the same way that some people were good at sports or some people could eat fourteen turkey legs in one sitting. It wasn't something you thought about all that often.

Hux was giving you one of those serious, incredulous stares that seemed to happen when he was mulling over a particularly aggravating thought. It was as though a question was beating its way around his skull that he was trying to stifle lest you figured it out. It's not like you could read his mind, but something was there.

"What?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. Save it for another day." And all of a sudden, he was standing up and taking his nearly finished tray of food toward the trash. You followed behind, eyebrows pulling together in confusion. Maybe it was Hux who should be studied right now.

"Best of luck with the Trooper," he mumbled before marching off, no doubt toward the command centre. You stood there for a moment by the rubbish bins, hands balled up into fists on your hips. Whatever Hux's problem was, you'd figure it out eventually, just like every other ridiculous mystery that was being thrown your way.

Sighing, you started to make your way toward the medical ward, which took up a large section of the 300s hallway.

The 300s hallway was a rather quiet wing of the base, reserved mostly for Trooper bunkers and the medical ward. But this evening, it was particularly silent. Usually you at least saw some Troopers walking by, but it was entirely empty save. The only sound for a few minutes was of your echoing footsteps until you took a turn and heard an unfamiliar roaring whoosh and sizzling crackle in a room ahead.

It was a sound unlike anything else—a low hum that made the very air snap and crack with heat, like a massive fire that had been compressed and only barely contained. And then there was a shout. Another. An angry, tormented yell as you heard the crackling and loud crunches of metal splitting and sizzling.

You approached slowly, letting your footsteps be masked by the crashes and increasing yells. Ahead was a metal door, completely sliced through and melted along its edges. Some of the metal was still glowing orange, and smoke was escaping in small swirls. Sparks were showering out of the room, and you leaned forward from the far side of the hall to peer inside.

You weren't sure what you had expected, but what you saw certainly wasn't it. Within the room was Kylo Ren, his black coat and hood swinging behind him as he violently beat a computer station with a brightly glowing, fire-red saber. The station was obliterated. Shards of metal had flown across the room, and electronic shrapnel covered the floor and floated as dust through the electrified air.

You stood there, not able to tear your eyes from the sight. Even as he slowed down and abruptly switched off the lightsaber, his anger was still a powerful force that seemed to fill every cell and fibre within you. His back was heaving with each breath, arms quivering and flexing out of pure rage. Never before had you seen such a display of violence, of power and inner struggle and unadulterated fury. It should have scared you, should have sent you scampering down the hall to the medical ward. But instead, you were transfixed, trying to understand what you had just seen a few metres in front of you.

Lips slightly parted, you heard your voice before even realising that you had spoken up. "Are you all right?" Such a simple question. Probably a stupid question.

Kylo's masked face had suddenly turned to face you with a surprised jerk.

And that's when you felt the crushing of your windpipe, the feeling of a set of hands on your neck when none were present. It was a snap, an explosion of pain, and your fingers clawed instinctively at your neck, head pressed up to face the ceiling as you choked. Pupils dilated and fluttering, you saw him, saw his gloved hand stretched forward from several paces away with muscles tensed as you felt your entire body being dragged in his direction.

Glossary:

Neurofibrillary Tangles: These are basically the proteins that gather in the brain and kill off other cells in Alzheimer's disease. Think of them as nets that swim around the brain and block the healthy cells' nutrition until they starve to death.

A/N: One of my best friends is a charge nurse on the neurology floor of one of the US's best hospitals, and she literally had a 22 year old dude rip through canvas restraints during a bout of severe encephalitis. Some of my colleagues worked on his case as well as were consulted for Susannah Cahalan's, who wrote the book 'Brain on Fire' about her experience. It's an excellent read about anti-NMDA-receptor autoimmune encephalitis, and I highly recommend checking it out, even if you aren't a neuroscience nerd.