He should feel sadness. He should feel anger. He should be wracked with a rage-filled vengefulness, clouded with fury at Phasma and grief for Poe. He should seek revenge, demand retribution, figure a way out of this hellhole.

Instead he just felt numb.

This mission, this fool's errand that should never have taken place, was all his fault. Jess had suggested they sneak in, Snap had wanted to attack, Nien had advised they wait. Poe had wanted to split up and spread out, but it was Finn who convinced the others to agree. It was Finn who'd left them all more susceptible to capture, vulnerable. And now Poe was dead.

Who was he? He was nothing. Nothing but a sanitation worker, worse than useless to the rebellion - a liability. And a deserter to the First Order. He belonged nowhere, for wherever he went he brought death to his friends.

It was approaching the middle of the night on this side of Domandari, but its suns still blazed as brightly as ever. Exhaustion had seeped into Finn's bones where he sat on the floor with his head in his hands, but anytime his eyes sank shut, he saw Poe Dameron's lifeless body being dragged away.

Jess Pava, Snap Wexley, Nien Nunb... Half a day had passed since last contact. Had they escaped somehow? Or would they be next?

A sound at the door. The lock releasing. His head had never been heavier, but somehow Finn managed to lift it as the door opened, revealing Nines standing there. Alone.

He held his white helmet in both hands, and he studied it for a long minute, glancing occasionally up the hall. There were no other troopers, no other sounds. Finally, he spoke.

"Waterfalls," he said. His mouth set in a thin line, Nines raised his eyes to meet Finn's. "There were waterfalls. Pouring from blue mountains." He shrugged. "I don't remember them, but Slip mentioned them once. We were on reconnaissance training, that scutwork where you spend days in a hole doing nothing? He just...started talking about waterfalls." Nines' eyebrows knit together. "The way he described it...so clearly..." He glanced at the ceiling and shook his head. "You could almost see it."

The former squadmates - former friends - stared at each other a long time. Then, with a heavy sigh, Nines stepped to the side. Leaving the doorway clear behind him.

When Finn just looked at him quizzically, Nines said, "For Slip." He shrugged again. "Always liked you. Damned if I know why."

Finn climbed to his feet and crossed the cell. Before he reached the door, Nines put on his helmet and faced the window. Finn stopped. "What about you?"

Nines shook his head. He knew what Finn was asking. "I'm still working on that."

Still Finn hesitated. Nines glanced over. "Go right, down the first set of stairs. You'll need this," he added, holding out his blaster.

Finn shook his head. "Nines-"

"Go," Nines insisted, shoving the weapon into Finn's hands and pushing him out the door. "You've got ten minutes before I report your escape."

Finn nodded, turning back to say...anything, but the door to the cell was already slamming shut.

He was alone in the hall. As instructed, he headed right and found stairs halfway down the corridor, unmanned, his path to freedom clear.

His feet stopped.

This was his chance to leave, to escape from the First Order yet again. He'd done it before, there was nothing keeping him from doing it now.

But the numbness and self-pity were gone. Just as surely as he'd walked out of that cell, he'd walked away from the helplessness he'd felt there. Now he had to decide. Sneak away, try to join the others, participate in the rebellion, play his small part. Or take this one improbable chance to make a bigger difference in this war.

Finn stepped back from the stairs, turned toward the darkened hall.

And started hunting.